


Keep You Like an Oath

by ORiley42



Series: A Wedding or Two [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, F/F, First Time, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Angst, Sharing a Bed, general abuse of plot logic for shippy reasons, its so contrived just roll with me, romantic and unrealistic swinging from rooftops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7400491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The marriage of convenience fic that nobody wanted, i.e., Matt and Frank get hitched and spend some quality time in a honeymoon suite while Karen and Foggy get shit done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep You Like an Oath

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this pairing is in need of fluffy things and long things and classic fic trope-y things so…. *throws fic into the ether and runs away*  
> This is pretty much the lightest, least angsty Matt/Frank thing in existence, which was difficult to achieve because let me tell you, these guys are the heaviest, angstiest bastards around.  
> Also, I looked up information on the legal nitty-gritty of marriage in NY, and then promptly ignored it all so as to make things in my fic work better, so, you know, be aware that this is all very much made-up.  
> Enjoy!  
> ETA: this fic is now available in Russian! (https://ficbook.net/readfic/4641469) Much thanks to Serial_Slasher1701 for the translation!

 

“Name of petitioner and relationship to the respondent,” the Justice of the Peace droned, not taking her eyes off the pile of papers before her.

Matt frowned, and looped his arm through Frank’s before replying, “I’m sorry, but we’re here to get married…?”

“Hmm?” the Justice finally looked up, her eyes widening when she took in the sight before her.

“We’re here to get hitched, ma’am,” Frank clarified, tone solemn.

“ _Married_?” Matt flinched as the Justice’s voice shot up nearly an octave with inexplicable joy. “Oh my! I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been doling out _restraining orders_ all day, and I thought… this is so, I’m so…oh my goodness this is _wonderful_!” The Justice gave a thrilled little squeal as she bounced out from behind the counter to usher Matt, Frank, Karen, and Claire down a hall, depositing them in a small room before dashing away with a call of, “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to put on some lipstick!”

“Aww…” Claire simpered once the Justice was out of earshot, “Look at you two, bringing joy into the drab lives of underpaid government employees.”

“You’re regular heroes,” Karen added, tone playful but with a caustic edge. “Here,” she took Matt’s hand and set a small silk pouch in it, “You’ll be needing these.”

Matt tugged at the bag’s drawstring, reaching inside to run his fingers over its contents even though he had already identified them from their soft metallic jangle.

As he pulled out the two wedding bands, his valiant attempts at full-scale denial came crashing down around his ears. This was _happening_. This was really and truly occurring in _reality_. How the hell had he ended up _here_?

It had only been three days ago, after hearing Frank’s tragic story and feeling some sort of answering ache inside him at the all-to-familiar agony of loss, that Matt had decided to drag Frank out of that graveyard and into his home. And then the night had gone from bad to worse when _Karen_ had shown up out of the blue and wandered straight into Matt in full Daredevil gear trying to keep Frank from bleeding out on his couch. Matt had barely talked Karen down from calling the police when Claire had shown up with a grumbled, “Someone here order legally questionable medical assistance?”

Karen and Matt hardly took notice of her arrival until she stomped between them, forcing the quarreling pair apart and sticking a finger in Matt’s face as she declared, “ _You_ ’re the one who called _me_ in the middle of the goddamn night, so you just _can it_ while I work a medical miracle here, or so help me god, you’ll be the next one on my table.” Matt had stepped meekly back, while Karen cast an impressed look at Claire as she went and kneeled by the now blood-soaked couch to tend to her patient – Frank said nothing because he was mostly unconscious at this point.

And somehow between all the (hushed) fighting and apologizing and patching up of various wounds, Karen had brought up the diverse legal complications of Matt, a vigilante, harboring Frank, another, more murderous vigilante, for any significant period of time, and Claire had made a joke about how Matt and Frank should just be done with it and get married and then _Karen_ – Karen had paused in her diatribe and become alarmingly thoughtful. Even before she opened her mouth, Matt felt his stomach plummeting, but then she was making a really intelligent case (she had been working in their legal office for months, he shouldn’t be surprised) and the more she talked, the more getting married and hiding out in a hotel somewhere while the heat died down from the latest bloodbath Frank had been involved in while Karen investigated the mystery of that day in the park came to sound less like utter insanity and more like a pretty feasible plan.

And then came the offer Matt couldn’t refuse:

“There’s something bigger going on here, bigger than just you, or Frank, or Daredevil. I think some other person or power is involved in the carousel hit, and that’s why all evidence of it has been quietly swept under the rug, and I want to get to the bottom of it. And that’s why…That’s why, if you help me _on my terms_ , I will forgive you – _temporarily_ – for being such an asshole and lying to me, because it’s gonna be all hands on deck to figure this whole mess out. Got it?”

Matt had barely considered it for a moment before nodding his agreement. How could he say no? After all, this was an olive branch, a way to get back into Karen’s good books – and how hard could it be, really, to play being married to Frank?

In the here and now of a back room of the city clerk’s office, Matt wondered if he was going to start hyperventilating.

The light brush of Frank’s fingers across his palm as he took the rings Karen had just handed over and held them up for inspection pulled Matt out of his spiral of panic.

“Huh.” Frank nodded and handed them back to Matt, the rings apparently having passed muster. “Nice.”

“They’re _lovely_ , Karen,” Claire added warmly. “You’ve got wonderful taste. What would these boys do without you?”

“I’m just doing my part,” Karen demurred, ducking her head to hide her grin.

“Don’t be modest,” Claire reproached her lightly, “you’re running this show!”

“Well, I’m glad that you two are…hitting it off well,” Matt observed, gesturing towards the two women.

“Yes, we are, actually,” Karen agreed, bumping her shoulder against Claire’s, “We’re going to get dinner and catch a movie tonight.”

“That’s….like, a _date_?” Matt ventured, unsure.

“Yes, a _date_ ,” Karen mimicked his tone. “What, did you think I couldn’t plan your wedding and pick up a date at the same time?”

“Clearly I should never have doubted you.”

“Clearly.”

No longer distracted by the topic of Karen and Claire’s love life, Matt’s thoughts turned inevitably back to the fiasco of his own, bringing with it a ringing in his ears and slight sense of vertigo.

Matt’s hand reached out of its own accord to scrabble at Frank’s sleeve, getting hold of his forearm and then proceeding to hold on for dear life, while Karen and Claire continued to flirt wildly and pay no attention to their soon-to-be-wed friends.

Frank raised a dubious eyebrow in Matt’s direction. “Watch the merchandise, Murdock,” he cautioned, giving the arm Matt was clutching a pointed shake.

“Sorry,” Matt muttered, while not actually loosening his grip. Frank stared at Matt’s hand, and then stared at Matt, and then went back to staring at his hand.

“It’s just…” Matt tried to explain and ended up asking, “Are we _really_ doing this?”

“We sure seem to be,” Frank grumbled. “And since I’m humoring _you_ by going along with this bullshit plan, that means _you_ don’t get to freak out.”

“Who’s freaking out?”

“You. You’re freaking out.”

“No, I’m not, shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Ohhh _kay_!” The chipper Justice burst back into the room in a cloud of perfume, interrupting their bickering. Matt pasted on a smile and Frank tried to rearrange his features into something a little less harsh than his usual about-to-kill-everyone-in-a-ten-mile-radius expression. 

“Let’s get _started_!” she gushed, clapping her hands together.

Normally, Matt would have found her honest delight to be endearing, but as it was, he felt a little nauseated to be perpetuating such a fraud of a wedding in front of not only the law and God (which was plenty of guilt for him to be dealing with at the moment, thank you very much) but also this happy little woman who was just _so excited_ to get to bring two people together rather than keep them apart.

Matt took solace from the fact that this whole charade was at least theoretically designed to do good, and so swallowed back his mountain of misgivings, even managing to drum up some fairly convincing excitement as he nodded and linked his hand more firmly with Frank’s.

“Do you have your own vows?” she asked, and Matt’s brain went blank. God, he hadn’t even thought about that. (He hadn’t thought about _anything_.)

He was saved from having to answer by Frank, who replied smoothly, “We’re simple guys, ma’am, didn’t want anything fancy. Just a standard ceremony will do fine.”

“Alrighty then.” The Justice cleared her throat and began: “We are gathered here today to unite the two of you in marriage, which is an institution ordained by the state and made honorable by the faithful keeping of good men and women throughout all ages, and is not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly.”

Matt had to rein in a sudden attack of hysterical laughter at that bit. He also just barely managed to stop himself from asking her if ‘getting married to a man you met a week ago when he kidnapped you at gunpoint, in order to avoid testifying in any legal cases involving him because he’s a murderer and you’re a vigilante who dresses up as the devil at night’ counted as being unadvised.

“Do you, Matthew Murdock, take this man, Frank Castle, to be your husband, to love, comfort, and cherish from this day forth?”

“I do.” Matt said the words without hesitation, much to his own surprise, and Frank’s as well, if the jump in his heartbeat was anything to go by.

“And do you, Frank Castle,” the Justice continued, blissfully unaware of Matt’s continuing internal struggle, “take this man, Matthew Murdock, to be your husband, to love, comfort, and cherish from this day forth?”

“I do,” Frank replied, and Matt thought his usual gruff tone might be even huskier than usual.

“You may exchange your rings.”

Matt took great pride in the fact that his hands did not shake as he pulled the rings back out of his pocket, and slid the slightly larger of the two over Frank’s ring finger.

The whole event had been totally surreal, but there was something incredibly _concrete_ about this moment, the feeling of cool metal skating over his skin as Frank slipped the remaining ring onto Matt’s hand, the band perfectly snug on his finger (because of _course_ Karen had figured out his ring size somehow).

“Having thus pledged yourselves to each other, I do now, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the state of New York, pronounce you married.”

There was a beat of expectant silence where it seemed like the whole building was holding their breath, before the Justice said the last line of the ceremony: “you may kiss.”

Oh.

_Right_.

Matt felt every ounce of anxious energy he’d managed to repress just minutes earlier come rushing back with a vengeance. But before he had the time to get good and properly freaked out, he felt a strong arm circle his waist while a rough, calloused palm pressed lightly against his cheek, and then the room fell away as he was dipped dramatically into a kiss worthy of Hollywood’s most expensive romantic blockbuster.

The kiss was quite chaste to begin with, more for theatrical effect than anything, just a firm press of Frank’s lips against his. But, it allowed Matt to actually learn a little about what Frank looked like, or what his _mouth_ looked like, at least, and it was….well. Frank apparently had a perfect cupid’s bow of an upper lip, the kind of upper lip that people wrote sonnets about, it was a _really nice_ upper lip and Matt was getting very distracted by it, especially when the kiss deepened and he was given the opportunity to _taste_ it…

And suddenly, while Matt was too busy marveling over how this man of blood and mayhem actually had the makings of a pretty damn good-looking face and wasn’t that a lucky thing considering the circumstances, they were vertical again and Frank was releasing his hold on Matt, though his hand lingered on Matt’s waist.

And they were married. And Frank had just given Matt one hell of a kiss in front of God and Jesus and Karen and Claire and one seriously overexcited Justice of the Peace.

“Congratulations, you two!” the Justice enthused, “I wish you all the happiness in the world! Now,” she glanced at her watch with a grimace, “I really have to go, but you all take your time back here. Bye bye!”

“Thank you!” Karen called after her as Matt swayed slightly, feeling oddly faint. Because of the shock of it all, he was sure, and nothing else, of course…

He was distracted from his thoughts of Frank and Frank’s mouth and Frank’s mouth _on his mouth_ when the scent of salt in the air caught his attention.

“Are you…crying?” he asked, turning to Claire, disbelieving.

“Shut up,” she sniffed, “it’s a wedding, everyone cries at weddings.”

“Yeah, but that’s usually because they’re _happy_.”

“I am happy. After all, this was my idea, technically.”

“Your _joke_ , technically.”

“Yeah, so? All’s well that ends well.”

“You’re right. And when this all goes to hell, I’ll know who to blame.”

“Fight me, Murdock. Though not right now, I’m wearing heels.”

“ _And_ a dress,” Matt commented, smirking slightly, “I’m touched that my sham wedding merited such fancy clothes.”

“How did you…? Never mind,” Claire shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not _you_ I’m trying to impress, blind man.” Matt’s grin widened at Karen’s soft little “oh!” of surprise in response.

His smile died on his lips, however, when he heard his phone chirrup and announce in its robo-voice, “Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.”

“Huh. You just went white as a sheet, Murdock,” Frank noted with mild interest. “And hey, so did Page.”

“Oh no,” Karen put her hand over her mouth.

“What am I gonna tell him?” Matt whispered, aghast.

“You didn’t _tell him_?” Claire asked, incredulous as she looked between Karen and Matt.

“Well…he’s been gone for a week, visiting his family on vacation, so…” Matt muttered to his shoes.

“So, no we didn’t tell him.” Karen admitted.

“Let me guess: you didn’t tell him because he would have talked you all out of this idea?”

The two’s guilty silence was answer enough.

“I should have known,” Claire shook her head in fond disbelief. “He’s the sane one, isn’t he? I figured there must be _something_ keeping you two justice-fiends from flying constantly off the rails.”

“Mmm. Well, good luck, with the explanation, Matt!” Karen said by way of farewell, taking Claire by the arm and leading her towards the door, quick-like.

“See ya!” Claire waved cheerily as they made their escape, leaving Matt standing in a beige backroom of the city clerk’s office with a freshly minted husband and a call waiting from his no doubt soon-to-be-furious best friend.

He just stood there helplessly for a moment, holding the ringing phone out and away from his body as if that way it couldn’t hurt him. He tilted his head towards Frank, expression pleading.

“What’re you looking at me for?” Frank grumbled, “I can’t help you, I don’t even know the guy.”

“But. But you’re my husband,” Matt protested weakly.

“So? You want me to hold your hand?”

Matt thought seriously about it for a minute before answering, “No.” He’d probably need both hands to fend off the waves of Foggy’s righteous anger when he told him. Which he _would_ , soon, just…not at this moment, not over the phone.

This sort of thing would go over much better in person.

~~~~~

It didn’t go over any better in person.

“I was gone for one week, Matt.”

“I know.”

“ONE WEEK.”

Matt winced as the volume of Foggy’s voice pricked at his eardrums. “I know, buddy, I know.”

“I think that you _don’t_ know, actually. Because if you _did_ know, then you would _not_ have decided to elope with a mass murderer who you met like three minutes ago!”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Put it like _what_? There _is_ no way to put it that sounds any less…any less… _insane_!” Foggy ran his hands roughly through his hair, pacing back and forth across his small office, where Matt had decided to drop the hey-by-the-way-I’m-married bomb, hoping the familiar surroundings would soften the blow. They did not.

“I have questioned your sanity many a time before but, oh boy, you have traded in your usual wackadoodle for some _premium_ crazy this time. I mean, how did you even let this happen?”

“Hey, I protested. _Strongly_.”

“You’re the freaking Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Matt! Are you trying to tell me that the man without fear was bullied into marriage with a gun-toting psychopath by a woman who weighs a hundred and ten, soaking wet?”

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re _not_ afraid of Karen?”

There was a moment of silence as Foggy contemplated that.

“Ok, point taken. But seriously, Matt, how the hell did you, a _lawyer,_ who passed the bar and everything, whose _job_ is to talk people into and out of everything and anything, get bushwhacked into marrying someone you don’t even _like_?”

Matt’s mouth fell open as if he expected a ready answer to that question to spill forth from it. But, as his brain supplied a steady stream of _nothing whatsoever_ to his vocal cords, he realized rather quickly that in fact, he did _not_ have a good answer.

“Oh my god.” Foggy stopped his pacing as he was hit with some sort of realization.

“Now, hold on a minute…” Matt held up a hand, as if that could keep Foggy from drawing any conclusions from Matt’s damning silence.

“Oh my god! That’s it: you _do_ like him!”

“No, it’s, it’s not like that…”

“You _can’t_ like him, Matt!” Foggy insisted, and Matt braced himself for the worst. “I haven’t even _met_ the guy, much less given him my stamp of approval.”

Matt blinked. This was…not the direction he thought this conversation had been about to go.

“We _agreed_ on this in college, after the Elektra fiasco,” Foggy continued, frustration clear in his tone, “We reserved the mutual right to pass judgement on our respective significant others, and delay authorizing said relationships pending best friend approval, if they were going to actually be _serious_.”

“That…” Matt scratched his head, casting his mind back to undergrad. “Did that really happen?”

“ _Yes_ , Matthew.”

“I feel like that agreement has never been invoked before.”

“That’s because I’ve chosen to remain footloose and fancy free. And we all know _you_ couldn’t make a girl stick around for more than a month – no offense – so it never came up! Until now. When you decided to _get married_.”

“Um…”

“And what’s _worse_ –”

Here we go, Matt thought, tensing.

“– is you got married _without_ me!  I mean. _Buddy_. I didn’t get to go to your wedding. _Me_. I really thought I was a shoo-in for best man.”

“Oh, I – I didn’t even think…about that…”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, Foggy, I mean…this whole thing, it’s basically a charade, right? It wasn’t real. If it was real, then yes, of _course_ I’d have asked you to be my best man, and to approve my choice of spouse, and _be there_ and all that. Of course, buddy. There’s no one else for the job.”

Foggy seemed slightly mollified by that, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, then. When you renew your vows I expect to be included prominently in the ceremony,” Foggy wagged a cautioning finger in Matt’s direction.

“Sure,” Matt grinned, relieved, “whatever you say, Fog.” He moved closer to swing an arm around Foggy’s shoulders, and felt Foggy begin to relax by degrees.

“You know,” Matt admitted, “these are really not the issues with this situation that I thought you’d be latching on to.”

“Well,” Foggy shrugged and looped his arm around Matt’s waist, “you’re a smart guy, not just a pretty face, despite what people say –”

“– _Hey_ –”

“– So, I figured you would’ve already thought through the veritable tsunami of legal shit you’d be drowning in if, no _when_ , this goes south on you. And, you being your Catholic self, I’m assuming you’ve also waded through the multitudes of moral concerns associated with a) getting married to a dude you barely know, much less like or _love_ , who is b) a _serial killer_ , I mean Jesus Christ, Matt, you’re really fucking up to some spectacular new levels.”

Matt sighed. _That_ was what he’d been waiting for.

“But!” Foggy threw up a hand, “despite my infinite misgivings with this whole scheme, I have to say, it will certainly be… _interesting_ to see how it turns out.” He cast a glance at the frosted glass of the closed office door, beyond which Frank waited alongside Karen to deal with the fallout of Foggy’s verdict. “Honestly, I think Karen might be on to something with you two.”

“Wha– _really_?” Matt sputtered, wondering if he’d stepped into some sort of alternate dimension where his best friend was as crazy as he was, and not the lone voice of reason in the offices of Nelson and Murdock.

“Well,” Foggy explained, “you’ve already got me and Karen to match up with your sunshine-smiley side, you know, mister goody-two-shoes pro-bono lawyer of truth, justice, and the American way. But, this Frank guy…maybe he fits in with your dark side.”

“Maybe,” Matt granted, tentatively, “But…is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. But if he helps balance out your life, or…soul, or whatever? Then yeah, that’s a good thing in my book.”

Matt hmmed uncomfortably. He hadn’t thought about this thing, about Frank, from that angle, and the new perspective was…well. A little jarring.

Frank was slouching on the edge of Karen’s desk, baseball cap pulled low over his brow when Matt and Foggy finally emerged from Foggy’s office.

“Mr. Castle,” Foggy began immediately, hands on hips. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you supposed to ask me for my permission? We both know that Matt Murdock is not a rational adult, capable of giving away his own hand in marriage.”

“ _Foggy_ …” Matt groaned, tugging at his best friend’s sleeve.

“I’ve gotta agree with your pal, Red,” Frank smirked, “you don’t seem the most rational of guys to me.”

“Thank you!” Foggy took a step towards Frank, lifting his hand as if about to give his shoulder a friendly pat, but thinking better of it at the last minute.

“You _married_ me,” Matt pointed out, exasperated.

Frank shrugged. “Case in point.”

Matt crossed his arms with an offended little huff as Karen dropped the papers she’d been going through back on her desk and stood. “OK, well, now that we’ve established that Matt shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions on his own, let’s get these two safely sequestered in their hotel, so we can investigate without interference.”

“Foggy, buddy,” Matt reached out to take his friend’s arm, pulling out his most convincing I’m-a-lawyer-you-can-trust-me face, “help me out here. You can’t _possibly_ support this.”

“Support what? Getting you stashed away somewhere safe where you can’t get shot in the face? Yeah, no idea why I’d be in favor of that,” Foggy deadpanned.

“Considering you’re locking me up with the only person who has, actually, shot me in the face, I have to question your logic.”

Foggy paused, as if considering, before shaking his head. “While that is a valid argument, I’m still with Karen on this one.” Foggy bent over, picked up Matt’s suitcase, and shoved it into Matt’s arms. “Off you go to enjoy your wedded bliss.”

Karen came around her desk to take Matt and Frank by the arm and ferry them to the door. “Now, there’s a taxi waiting for you downstairs. You go straight to the hotel, check in, and get comfy, cause you’re staying there for a whole week, or until I say so. That’s our _deal_ ,” Karen reminded Matt sternly, “and you’d better listen to me, or you won’t just be dead from the neck up.”

“Are you threatening me with bodily harm, or insulting my intelligence?”

“That little turn of phrase allowed me to do both. Now,” Karen flicked her fingers idly towards the door, “Off you go on your honeymoon.”

~~~~~

Even from Matt’s unique perspective, the honeymoon suite at The Carlyle was…something else.

“Frank, tell me if I’m wrong,” Matt began in a measured tone as he set their luggage down just inside the doorway, “but is this room _completely excessive_ in every way?”

“You’d better believe it,” Frank replied, sounding surprisingly cheerful as he stomped over to the bed and proceeded to flop face first onto it.

“I’m not sure, but from the pretty uniform warmth…” Matt’s fingers glanced over a table, a vase, the curtains. “Is _everything_ in here white?”

“Every goddamn thing,” Frank mumbled from where he was still face-planted on the ( _emperor_ sized, Matt was pretty sure) bed.

Matt wandered through the space, head tilted and hand raised, feeling along the outlines of the gaudy furniture and tracing over the truly unwarranted amounts of lace covering every conceivable surface. He wondered how Frank could be so unaffected at the sight, because surely if Matt could actually _see_ the room in all of its overwrought frilly horror, he’d have turned tail and fled at first glance.

“Are there…are there _actual_ rose petals scattered on the bed?” Matt asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer, as he finally turned his attentions to the outrageous bed that dominated the center of the room.

“’Fraid so,” Frank sighed, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it more comfortably under his head.

Matt tilted his head, brow furrowing as he tried to place the odd tinkle of running water coming from the corner. “Is that a _fountain_ over there?”

“Hmmm…” Frank lifted his head enough to glance across the room. “Yup. Cheesy piece of shit, with these really tacky cupids on it.”

“Oh, good.” Matt pressed a hand to his temple, pretty sure a headache was coming on.

“Unclench, Murdock,” Frank muttered dryly, “If I can survive a week of luxury, so can you.”

“Well, _you_ seem to be taking this all rather well,” Matt griped. “Which is _completely_ out of character for you.”

“You’re taking this too seriously, Red. Me, I’m glad to have an excuse to sleep on a comfortable bed for a week and not have to think about…” Frank’s heartbeat wavered slightly, and Matt could sense a wave of hot anger roll over him before it faded, and he settled into the cushy comforter. “Well, an excuse to not think. Or do anything. You telling me you couldn’t use a vacation?”

“A vacation implies relaxation. I doubt there will be anything relaxing about spending a week trapped in a room with you.”

Frank made a vague noise of agreement, but otherwise seemed unbothered. In fact, he already seemed to be half-asleep, which reminded Matt…

“Wait. There’s only one bed here.”

Frank didn’t reply, except for to start snoring slightly.

“Hey,” Matt marched over to the bed, thwacking Frank lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand “Would you _listen_ when I’m talking to you!”

“Never have before,” Frank muttered, pulling a pillow over his head, “don’t figure I’ll start now.”

Matt reached to tug the pillow away from him, but Frank clamped onto it with both hands, and in moments the whole thing had devolved into a fairly vicious tug of war that only ended when the pillow started to make an ominous tearing sound and Matt surrendered, so as to avoid the impending feathery explosion.

Frank hugged the pillow to his chest with a pleased grunt, opting not to lay back down but to instead lean against the headboard and start going through the drawer in the bedside table.

“How the hell did I let myself get talked into this,” Matt groused, slouching forlornly against the wall.

Frank’s answering murmur was so quiet, Matt wondered if the words were even meant for him to hear: “Nobody makes the devil do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Oh, so, Frank was going to be like _that_.

There was a tense silence in the room as Frank found the TV remote and started flicking through menus on the screen.

“Are you trying to insinuate that I…I _wanted_ this?”

Frank’s only answer was silence, filled with clicks of the remote. Matt was a lawyer, he was a master of techniques of verbal persuasion, including that of leaving people silences which they then use to demonstrate their own guilt. And yet, he found himself continuing to speak, his tone getting increasingly petulant.

“Well, that’s just… I _didn’t_. Maybe…maybe _you_ did.” Matt put his hands on his hips and stuck his chin out, well aware that the I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I argument he’d just posited was spectacularly childish, but it was, unfortunately, all he could come up with.

Frank still didn’t respond to Matt’s bait, probably aware that silence was proving to be an effective weapon against his new spouse.

Matt decided to return to the more pragmatic issue he’d been trying to address before. “Well, I know one thing: I am _not_ sleeping on the floor.”

“Nope. You’ll be sleeping on the bed.”

“Okay….and _you’ll_ be…?”

“Also sleeping on the bed.”

Matt felt a blush start to creep into his cheeks at just the thought, and immediately wanted to kick himself for it. “So, like…together.” He tried and failed to make his words sound casual, “Sharing.”

Frank finally turned to look at him, a smirk pulling slowly across his face as he asked, “You afraid that I’ll bite, Murdock?”

Matt sputtered and couldn’t think of any reply that wouldn’t be damning in some way, so he settled for just shaking his finger in a vaguely threatening manner before turning on his heel and stomping out onto the balcony, slamming the glass doors shut behind him with more venom than was necessary. He may not be able to appreciate the view the small terrace offered, but he’d take the modicum of privacy.

After taking a deep breath, he dialed the number for the office, tapping his hand impatiently against the banister as it rang out. Finally, Foggy’s cheery voice answered, “Nelson and Murdock, how can I help you?”

“Get me out of here,” Matt snarled without preamble.

“Yikes!” Foggy chuckled, “half an hour into the honeymoon, and you’re trying to make a break for it. You two are worse than Kim K and Kris Humphries. Hey, maybe you could get your own reality show!”

“Who—what? No, never mind. Don’t tell me, just put Karen on the phone.”

“Okaaaay, but I don’t think you’re going to get early parole, no matter how much sweet talking you do,” Foggy warned him before stage-whispering to Karen, “It’s the blushing bride on the line.”

Matt wanted very deeply to bang his head on something, but he could feel Frank’s gaze flickering over to his back periodically, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him lose it.

“Hey, Matt,” Karen came on the line with a laugh in her voice.

Matt was _not_ in the mood for joviality, and cut straight to the chase.

“This is a _honeymoon_ suite.”

“Yeah…”

“There’s _one_ bed.”

“Yeah.” Karen sounded deeply amused and not at all contrite.

Matt pressed a hand over his eyes as he realized, “You’re screwing with me, aren’t you. This whole thing is one big punishment.”

“Yeah,” Karen admitted easily. “Once I realized who Frank was, well. Is there anyone more fit for the job?”

Matt groaned and slid his hand down to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please, no puns. I can’t take it.”

“Sorry,” Karen giggled, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

“Listen, Karen, you can’t make me stay here.”

“No, I can’t. But you might want to, for Frank’s sake.”

“Why, what happened?”

“It just came in, they picked up a sample of Frank’s blood at the scene of the most recent Kitchen Irish mess, and now he’s wanted for questioning in relation to the, uh, numerous homicide victims found there.”

“Great.” This was just getting better and better.

“Yeah. My contact in the DA’s office says that the NYPD are about one stray bullet casing away from confirming that Frank’s the city’s mystery shooter, and sending the hounds after his scent, and I –” A phone rang in the background. “Hold on a sec.”

There was a clatter as Karen switched phones. Matt worried the hem of his suit jacket, waiting impatiently for her to come back on the line.

“Okay,” Karen sighed as she picked up again. “I have some…not good news.”

Matt took a sharp breath in through his nose before replying, “Let me guess: one stray bullet casing?”

“Um, yeah. They found something and….Frank Castle’s officially a wanted man.”

“Well,” Matt tried to insert a joking note in his voice, even though he wasn’t feeling at all flippant, “I guess we got that wedding in just under the wire. Now, if they want him they’re gonna have to get through me, apparently.”

“I…I’m sorry, Matt, I know I bullied you into this because I was mad, but now that all this shit’s starting to rain down I’m realizing what a bad idea –”

“No, Karen,” Matt cut her off gently, “It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I agreed to this, and actually, this is exactly why we did it, right? For the legal protections of marriage.”

“Marriage protections don’t include stopping you from being arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive from the law.”

“No, they don’t, but it still serves as a good excuse for why I’m with him, if it comes to that. And, honestly, I’d be helping him try and find justice for his family, even if I hadn’t married him. You wouldn’t have been able to _stop_ me. So, don’t blame yourself for anything Karen, because I’d be doing this anyway.”

“Oh my god,” Karen breathed, “Foggy was right. You _do_ like him!”

“I–what– _no_ ,” Matt just barely resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air, or chuck his phone down to the street below. “Don’t _you_ start.”

“No, Matt, I think it’s _great_!” Karen cooed, “You two really do make _such_ an adorable couple –”

“Alright, no, I’m not gonna listen to this. Call me if you have an update on the case –”

“Ooh, but you have to tell me everything! How long have you felt –”

“— _Goodbye_ , Karen.” Matt hung up the phone with a fierce tap.

He jammed his phone back in his pocket and gripped  the banister tightly in both hands. Aside from the insinuations about possible feelings he may be harboring for a certain spouse of his (which, Matt told himself firmly, were totally unfounded) Matt was also still _stuck_ in this frilly purgatory.

Every cell in his body wanted to _move_ ; staying on the sidelines simply wasn’t in his playbook…but neither was it in Frank’s, which made it the _smart_ move, the best way to stay off the police and the DA’s radar.  And really, how hard could it be to just take a break and let his friends – his good, smart, brave friends – do their thing without him?

Oh, who was he kidding. This was _him_ , he was talking about – this was going to be one of the most difficult things he’d ever… _not_ done.

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath before squaring his shoulders and turning about face to march back into the suite.

“Any news, sugarplum?” Frank drawled as he came back inside.

“Don’t call me that,” Matt grumbled.

“Whatever you say, honeybunches.”

Matt let his head fall back in an aggrieved sigh. “Well, I learned that you’re officially wanted by the police for murder, _sweetie pie_.”

Frank hmmed disinterestedly as he flicked the TV off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing and stretching. “Took ‘em long enough.”

“I wouldn’t have minded them taking a little longer.” Matt rubbed at the bridge of his nose again. He was _definitely_ getting a headache.

“Well, I’m gonna take a shower,” Frank announced, rifling through his suitcase and unearthing a change of clothes. His suitcase and its contents had been largely supplied by Karen who, as far as Matt could tell, spent all of her free time breaking into Frank’s old house.

There was a rustle of fabric from Frank’s side of the room, and Matt froze. It sounded an awful lot like Frank was…

“Are you…are you _taking your clothes off_?” Matt spluttered.

“Yup,” Frank replied, totally blasé.

“I’m _right here_.”

“Yes you are, _husband_.”

“OK, we’re married but not… _married_.” Matt felt a nervous sweat start to prickle his skin as he considered the horrifying possibility that maybe Frank had somehow _not_ been entirely clear on that.

“I am aware, _pudding_ ,” Frank replied, somehow able to make the term of endearment sound uncannily like ‘dumbass.’ “But what are you gonna do,” there was the distinctive click of a belt buckle being undone and a soft thwump as Frank’s slacks hit the ground, “peep on me?”

Frank crossed his arms and was, Matt was fairly certain, completely naked as he added, “Unless this makes you… uncomfortable?”

Matt recognized the challenge for what it was and raised his chin, crossing his arms to match Frank’s defensive stance as he declared, “Not in the slightest.”

Never one to back away from a fight, Matt stepped neatly across the room, passing just a hair closer than was needed as he walked past Frank to the fountain stashed in the corner of the room, which was still whooshing cheerily along and grating seriously on Matt’s nerves.

He felt along the wall for the socket, before ripping out the plug of the fountain none to gently, feeling a savage sort of pleasure when it made a sad gurgling noise and died. He turned back to Frank who was still watching him with what Matt thought might be a note of amusement.

“Well, off you go,” Matt gestured in the direction of the bathroom with the fountain’s cord, “don’t let me keep you. Unless you need me to come with and wash your hair…?”

“You wish,” Frank shot back, and yes, that was definitely amusement in his tone as he marched into the bathroom and swung the door shut behind him.

As soon as Frank was out of sight, Matt sagged against the wall. If Frank was going to continue with spontaneous attacks of nudity throughout the weekend, Matt wasn’t sure he would survive it. It was all just a bit… _much_.

‘A bit much’ could describe Frank in general, really. Everything from that long night on the roof to their ridiculously ill-planned and reactionary wedding had been just _very much_ , and the problem was… Matt _liked_ it. He didn’t want life in small doses, he didn’t make little mistakes he made _big_ mistakes that imploded his life into a heart-stopping maelstrom –

And _those_ sort of thoughts meant that Matt was long overdue to whip his mind into order. Time for some meditation, he decided, moving to sit cross-legged in a sun-warmed spot of carpet beside the glass balcony doors.

By the time Frank stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, Matt had neatly shelved any and all thoughts that involved romanticizing his tendency to self-destruct.

As he came out of his meditative state, Matt slowly became aware of Frank watching him. How long had he been sitting there, just watching Matt?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” he shot at Frank without opening his eyes or turning towards him.

Frank didn’t even have the grace to be embarrassed at being caught. “Probably. Guess I didn’t listen.”

“You are ridiculous,” Matt sighed, uncrossing his legs and rising.

Frank shrugged. “I’ve been called  a lot worse.”

As the sun fell in the sky, they ordered room service and ate in surprisingly comfortable silence. Despite his history of, ahem, _antagonism_ , Frank was now proving to actually be a fairly peaceable companion, which was not something Matt ever thought he could describe the _Punisher_ as. He didn’t try and make forced conversation, and Matt didn’t feel like he had to put up a front of interest, or normalcy. He could just… be.

Frank forked up the last of the mushrooms Matt had picked out of his pasta (“should’ve known you’d be a picky eater, Red”, “when you’re able to sense everything I can, it’s not being picky, it’s being _vigilant_ ”), and then tossed his silverware down, grabbing the food trolley and rolling it outside

As he slid the deadbolt back into place and pulled the chain over the door, Frank broke the quiet by saying, “I guess it would probably be pretty rude, even for _me_ , to suggest watching a movie.”

Matt shook his head. “You go ahead, I’ve got a few novels to keep me entertained.”

Frank grunted his acknowledgement as he flicked the TV on. Matt curled up in the flouncy, overstuffed armchair tucked in the corner opposite the bed with a book chosen randomly from the ones he’d stuffed haphazardly into the suitcase Karen had packed for him while he was out tying up loose ends at the office and on the streets. He’d already tuned out the buzz of noise coming from the television when Frank’s voice intruded on his thoughts, apropos of nothing.

“It’s just…” Frank huffed out a breath, irritation clear in his tone, though Matt wasn’t sure at whom or what it was directed, “This is _weird_ , right?”

“Um…” Matt paused in his reading. “Two vigilantes faking marriage so as to avoid arrest long enough to find justice? Yeah, I think that’s pretty firmly in the weird category.”

“No, I mean…this. Sitting here, when the sun’s down, doing whatever bullshit normal people usually do while we’re off putting down the scum of the earth. _They’re_ watching trash on the TV, or reading just for the hell of it but…that’s not really _us_.”

“No, it isn’t,” Matt agreed slowly, letting his fingers drift away from his book and up to his glasses, which he pulled off to rub at his eyes, deciding after a moment to tuck them into his pocket. It’s not like he needed them here, with this company. “Now that you mention it, I can’t remember the last time I did something… _normal_ with my evenings. Certainly I don’t know when I last got to read something just because I wanted to.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, tone unreadable. The both fell silent for a minute, the TV continuing to chatter in the background until Frank switched it back off. “The shit on there’s even worse than I remember,” Frank explained, gesturing towards the screen. “I can’t believe people spend their lives glued to this garbage.”

“It can’t all be that bad,” Matt demurred. After a moment he added, “I suppose it matters who you’re watching it with.”

Frank didn’t respond, staying quiet for so long that Matt raised his fingers and started running them over the lines of braille on his lap again.

“What’re you reading?” Frank’s words sounded almost pained, as if attempting to make conversation was causing him more distress than any of the contusions he was still nursing. Matt wondered briefly if it was just boredom making Frank feel he needed to fill the silence, or something else.

“Uh…” Matt ran his hands along the book’s spine to check, “It’s called ‘The Case of the Buried Clock.’ It’s an old Perry Mason mystery, Foggy gave it to me for my last birthday.”

Frank didn’t reply. Tension was still stringing along his body, but Matt couldn’t put a finger on what might be causing it. Was it merely Frank’s natural response to spending an extended period of time with another human being who wasn’t trying to do him deadly harm?

Not sure if he was interpreting the situation correctly, Matt began cautiously, “Sorry I can’t offer you anything, all my books are in braille, obviously…there’s probably a Bible in one of the drawers if you really want to read something.”

Frank barked a laugh. “Is that your way of telling me I need Jesus, Red?

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve read that thing front to back, and at one time, I could’ve recited a bunch of it to you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I actually thought about….” Frank trailed off.

Matt gave him a moment before prodding him gently, “Thought about what?”

Frank scratched his head and crossed his legs and didn’t answer, but Matt kept up his best approximation of watching him closely until he finally muttered, “I thought about entering the seminary, before I decided to join up.”

Matt gaped at Frank. “That…” he stuttered, trying to reconcile his image of the Punisher with that of a _priest_ , a man who was supposed to be of God and wisdom and charity. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine meeting up with Frank for lattes and morality chats. “That is unexpected,” was all Matt could come up with by way of response.

“Doesn’t matter,” Frank grunted, and Matt could tell Frank was already retreating back behind his usual stoicism, walls being raised even as they spoke.

In a last ditch attempt to keep their bizarrely honest conversation rolling, Matt threw out the first question that came to mind: “What did you think about the Flood?”

“…what?”

“The Flood? Noah, the Ark? Come on, you must remember that one, no matter how many bullets you took to your brain.”

“I remember the Flood, asshole, but what do you want me to say about it?”

“Well…what’s your interpretation of it? If you were thinking about being a priest, you must have an opinion.”

Frank paused, his body language radiating confusion as he replied, “Do you _really_ wanna get into this with me?”

“I really do.” And though he couldn’t really put a finger on why, Matt meant it.

“Well, in that case…” the bed squeaked as Frank sat up straight, “I think the Flood was the best thing He did in that whole book. But I always thought, maybe he should have wiped the slate completely clean, I mean, look at the world…turns out Noah’s descendants aren’t doing all that much better…”

And that was how Matt and Frank ended up debating some of the finer points of the Bible and God and Catholicism in general, long into the night. Matt was unsurprised to learn that Frank’s beef wasn’t with God’s often somewhat over-zealous wrath, but rather with the concept of forgiveness – even before Frank went overseas, before he lost his family, he hadn’t been able to get behind the idea of absolving people of their sins.

The two argued and bickered, but more often than not, Matt fell to laughter as images floated through his mind of Frank as a priest, punching out anyone who dared to try and come to him for confession.

“You would have been the world’s most unconventional priest,” he told Frank.

“Yeah, I guess the world’s lucky I decided to ditch that career path.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You sure would have given a hell of a sermon.”

“Yeah…in another life.”

Melancholy settled suddenly on the room, stifling the friendly atmosphere that had been gamely attempting to gain a foothold as they talked.

There was a soft rustle from Frank’s side of the room as he leaned over to look at something on the nightstand.

“It’s after midnight,” he announced. “We’ve been talking for, what… four hours?”

“And you didn’t even have to chain me to a roof this time.”

“Well, the night’s still young.”

Frank grinned and Matt smiled back even though, really, he shouldn’t find that funny.

“So, time for bed?” Matt suggested.

“Yeah. Recovering from torture takes a lot out of a guy. I need my beauty sleep.”

Matt unfolded himself from the chair, stretching out the kinks in his back and stifling a yawn as he replied, “Even without the torture _you’d_ still need some serious beauty sleep.”

Frank tossed a pillow at Matt, which he side-stepped neatly with a grin on his way to the bathroom.

He and Frank brushed their teeth side-by-side, and the whole thing felt unsettlingly domestic. To Matt, it was all the more unnerving because it actually felt…okay. He didn’t flinch defensively at Frank’s sudden movements; he no longer assumed there was a gun hidden beneath every fold of Frank’s clothes. And Frank – Frank was about as close to relaxed as Matt had ever seen him. Not just the mechanical relaxation of utter exhaustion either, like he had been back at Matt’s apartment when he’d first been rescued, when his muscles had been wound so tight for so long that he’d just collapsed out of sheer necessity. No, he was just…well, not _calm_ , exactly, because a storm captured in a bottle is still a storm, and Frank may be in the eye of his own personal hurricane, but that didn’t make him any less lethal. But his reflexes weren’t on a hair trigger, and Matt took care not to upset the delicate balance they’d established as they completed their respective nighttime rituals.

Of course, all of that maturity and serenity couldn’t last, and went flying out the window as soon as Matt went over to his bag to see if Karen had packed anything he could wear to bed, and found an unfamiliar cardboard box. He scrabbled at its edges for a moment before managing to peel back the top, reaching in to brush his fingers across what felt like a bunch of foil packets…

 “Oh for fuck’s –” Matt started to swear, cutting himself off, but it was too late, he’d already attracted Frank’s attention.

“What is it? Karen didn’t _actually_ leave roadkill in there, did she?”

“ _What_?” Matt was so thrown that he almost forgot to finish hiding the box of condoms (God, he was going to _kill_ Karen) under a pair of jeans, just barely managing to collect his wits in time to shove it out of sight before Frank ambled closer, peeking over Matt’s shoulder in mild interest.

“She told me she was thinking about it.”

“God… _no_ ,” Matt wrinkled his nose at the pure horror of that possibility. “It’s not roadkill.”

Matt’s hands hovered over the bag cautiously, now doubly concerned over its contents, though he was positive he would have noticed the stink of an animal carcass from a mile away.

“So, what is it?” Frank asked, bumping Matt’s shoulder with his elbow.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” Matt insisted, shoving him away. “I just don’t know what the hell _is_ in here, or _where_ anything is.” 

He reached back in cautiously, and his probing fingers found a pile of unfamiliar silk. He pulled it out slowly, trying to feel out the shape as he held the garment up and asked Frank, “Are these… pajamas?”

“Uh, yeah, they sure are,” Frank confirmed, sounding rather more entertained than he should be.

“They seem…fine…” Matt ran his hands along the edges of the pajama shirt, finding nothing that could merit the amused skip of Frank’s heartbeat.

“They’ve, uh,” Frank had to pause to huff a laugh before he could finish his sentence, “they’ve got these little devils all over them, Red.”

Matt let his head fall to his chest in exasperation. Of _course_ , the day’s embarrassment wasn’t over. Really, he should have known. This is what he got for letting Karen pack his bags while he went out to do some last-minute Daredevilling before his impending nuptials.

“And, and they’ve got matching little pitchforks too,” Frank continued.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s some pretty adorable shit, actually.”

“I’m sure,” Matt agreed coolly, as he took the offending pajamas, opened one of the dresser drawers at random, and shoved them inside, safely out of sight.

Matt turned back to Frank and realized that, for the second time that day, the other man was taking his clothes off. And, unfortunately, he didn’t seem too keen on putting any back on as he headed to the bed, clad only in his boxers (the fact that he kept those on, Matt counted as a blessing.)

Before he could lose his nerve, Matt did the same, stripping his shirt and pants off and folding them neatly before setting them in another dresser drawer.

Frank paused before getting into bed, glancing back at Matt as he asked, “Do you care which side you sleep on?”

The question put Matt a little off-balance, it was so…bizarrely considerate. And a little unsettling, in the way it reminded him that Frank had spent years sharing a bed with someone else entirely. “Um, no, I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

And now they were two people, standing next to each other in their boxers, about to share a bed. This was fine, Matt counseled himself. It wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe if he told himself that enough, it would actually be true.

Frank dropped heavily into bed, lying on his back and tugging the comforter up to his chest. Matt crawled in the other side, sliding neatly under the sheets and taking special care to keep a goodly amount of space between their bodies.

As Matt fluffed his pillow into a more desirable shape, he realized that Frank had made no move to flick off any lights, and in fact, Matt hadn’t ever noticed him turn any on, nor could he sense any electric currents running along the ceiling or towards the bedside lamps.

“Uh, Frank…” Matt began haltingly, “have we been sitting in the dark this whole time?”

“Yes,” Frank responded shortly.

“Um. Why?”

“Well, it’s not like _you_ need the lights on.”

“No, but _you_ do.”

“I’ve got pretty good night vision. ‘Sides, I like things dark.”

Matt wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He huffed a breath somewhere between a laugh and a sigh as he started to say, “Frank, you are…”

“A freak?” Frank offered. “Whackjob, maybe?”

“One of a kind,” Matt finished.

There was a soft rustle as Frank shook his head. “G’night, Red,” he muttered, before rolling over onto his side.

“Good night, Frank,” Matt whispered back.

~~~~~

When he awoke, Matt was toasty warm and oh-so-comfortable. The gigantic hotel bed was fitted with silk sheets, similar enough to the ones Matt had at home that he’d been able to fall asleep with far less difficulty than he’d expected when imagining having to spend several nights in a strange room. The bed and sheets were even _clean_. Properly so, with no alarming smells or stains, and nothing disgusting jammed behind the bedframe or under the mattress – unlike the time he and Foggy had tried to spend the night in a half-rate motel on an ill-advised college road trip, and Matt had found something horrifying shoved beneath the mattress that had nearly put them both off of travel for life.

Maybe Karen had been onto something with this whole honeymoon suite thing, he thought sleepily as he wiggled to try and roll over to his other side. His progress was impeded, however by something big and body-warm. For a split second he merely wondered idly what it could be, before _exactly what it must be_ occurred to him and he jerked away, eyes flying open uselessly as he tried to get some distance between him and his bedmate. This proved rather more difficult than expected, as Matt realized that he had somehow gotten himself good and tangled in the sheets during the night, and his limbs were well-ensnared now that Frank’s bulk was pinning down one side of the comforter, leaving him essentially trapped in a silky burrito.

Matt counseled himself to breathe deeply, calm down, and take stock of the situation. Okay. He was swaddled in the bed’s sheets and comforter, practically falling off of his side of the bed, while Frank was sprawled on his stomach, partially on top of said comforter, one leg pressed up against Matt’s and one arm resting on Matt’s ribs, precariously close to being wrapped around him.

Heat flared in Matt’s cheeks as he realized that, honestly, his current predicament was likely of his own making. It seemed he’d dragged all the blankets to his side during the night, so Frank had really only been following the warmth. It was just natural. Matt should probably be grateful that Frank hadn’t ripped the sheets away from him and dumped his ass onto the chilly floor.

Only now, he had to deal with the question of how best to escape this little dilemma. Did he try and shimmy his way free? Did he wake Frank roughly by pushing him away, hoping he both didn’t notice their awkward position and didn’t try and murder Matt for the unexpected awakening? Neither of those options seemed to have a particularly high probability for success, but, since he preferred the option that didn’t involve his own potential homicide, Matt decided on the former.

He slowly, slowly, dragged his arms up his sides until they were free of his snuggly prison, and then wrapped his hands around the bars of the brass headboard. Gripping the metal tightly, he dragged himself towards the wall and out of Frank’s grip, scooting along on his stomach.

It was just like doing a pull-up, he told himself. Except horizontally, and on a bed, and while being unconsciously semi-embraced by a violent vigilante. Okay, so maybe not just like doing a pull-up.

He’d almost gotten away scot free when a loud clatter rose up from the street outside and Frank snuffled in his sleep, his arm tightening unconsciously around Matt. However, by this point Matt had half-extricated himself from the sheets, and Frank’s hand was no longer safely confined to the relatively inoffensive area of Matt’s back and side, but had slid rather further down and that – that was Matt’s _ass_ Frank was tightening his grip on and _dear Lord have mercy_ he needed to _get out of here right now immediately_ –

With one last pull of Herculean strength, Matt managed to free himself of the fluffy silk death trap the bed had become, and maneuver himself safely out of Frank’s grasp.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, Matt made a mad dash for the bathroom, swinging the door shut as quickly and quietly as possible before collapsing against it and listening closely for the sounds of Frank waking up. However, he just let out a little snore and, from what Matt could tell from the rustling of the sheets, rolled over. Matt let out the breath he’d been holding with a great whoosh, and slid down the doorframe to slump on the floor.

This was such a disaster. Not because of what had happened exactly, but because of how Matt was _reacting_. If Foggy had been the one to accidentally grab an unintentional handful of Matt’s ass, there would have been at most a bit of awkwardness, probably more jokes and ribbing than anything else, and then it would be gone from Matt’s mind.

But. This. Matt was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be forgetting _this_ anytime soon. He hid his face in his hands as he contemplated how quickly his life had spiraled out of control, and how really, he’d been doing _just fine_ before Frank _fucking_ Castle had blasted his way into his life. _Fuck_ him.

Wait.

No.

Don’t do that, he told himself, definitely _do not_ do that. There will be no fucking on this faux-honeymoon, even if they were trapped in a gaudy hotel suite with nothing to do and a gigantic bed staring them in the face all day, and even if Frank’s strong, calloused hand hadn’t exactly been _unwelcome_ …

Matt would have slammed his head against the wall if not for fear that it would wake Frank, and then Matt would have to start really facing the realities of the day.

He was so screwed.

~~~~~

Matt managed to survive the morning, spending most of breakfast trying to just _not think about anything at all_ , while Frank chewed his bacon sedately, clearly _not_ haunted by any accidental snuggling or groping.

Matt decided to pass the time by finishing his Perry Mason mystery. Before he settled down to read, he dug through his suitcase and came up with a pack of cards which he tossed to Frank with the advice: “play some solitaire and think peaceful thoughts,” to which Frank just grunted and started shuffling the deck.

Lunch came around, and they ordered more room service, ending up sitting cross-legged on the floor with their food. The passed the meal in friendly spirit, with Matt stealing French fries off of Frank’s plate, while Frank scooped up the discarded remains of Matt’s meal that hadn’t met with his rigorous taste and food safety standards, making noises about “wasting perfectly good food” and “such a fussy sonofabitch.”

They were dangerously close to having fun, bickering over who got the last bite of apple pie, when Matt’s phone started to chant: “Karen. Karen. Karen.”

Matt fumbled for his phone and Frank took advantage of the distraction, swiping up the pie plate and bypassing his fork, tipping the remains directly into his mouth. Matt mouthed “fuck you” at Frank as he answered the call, but Frank just grinned, satisfied as he dumped the empty plate back on the tray.

“Hey, Karen.”

“Hey, Matt! How’re you doing?”

“Fine. I’m putting you on speaker.” Matt pushed the dishes aside and set the phone down between them.

“Hey, Frank!” Karen chirped happily through the phone’s tinny speaker.

“Uh, hey,” Frank replied, discomfort radiating off of him as the ease he’d previously been exhibiting evaporated in the face of human interaction. Well, humans who weren’t Matt.

“So,” Matt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “what have you found?”

“Well,” Karen began excitedly, “we got the crime scene photos from the carousel massacre –” Frank tensed, his back going ramrod straight, and Matt pretended not to notice.

“– and there’s some things that don’t add up in them. Like a body that’s in one picture, and not the other, some guy who’s not on any of the lists of the deceased, a John Doe who we think could crack this whole thing wide open –”

“And we’ve got a line on the coroner for the case,” Foggy’s voice piped up over the line. “We think if we can find him, he can help give us some pieces to this jigsaw puzzle of murder. Well, if by pieces you mean corpses. That would be a really gross puzzle. Hi, by the way, I’m here too.”

“Hi, Fog,” Matt greeted him fondly. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourselves? One misplaced body doesn’t mean there’s some sort of, I don’t know –”

“ _Conspiracy_.” Karen and Foggy chorused.

“You guys,” Matt entreated them, “You’ve got some sloppy cops and mismanaged paperwork – that’s hardly unusual in an overworked police precinct, especially since this was when Fisk still had his hooks in.”

Matt turned to Frank for support, but found him to be nodding slowly, apparently agreeing with Karen and Foggy’s assessment of the situation. Matt’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline as he asked Frank in disbelief, “You don’t actually think there _is_ a conspiracy?”

“What?” Frank crossed his arms defensively. “There’s been a lot of weird shit going down in this town. It’s not my fault if you’re too blind to see it, buttercup.”

“Oh, really, you’re going _there_? That’s a low blow, _muffin_.”

“No, a low blow would’ve been bringing up that you’re a terrible blanket hog, _pumpkin_.”

Matt’s mouth fell open in a gasp before he snapped it shut, tamping down the blush trying to rise in his cheeks. Dear _God_ , if Frank knew about that, what else had he noticed?

“Uh, guys?” Karen cut in, “are you done arguing like a, well, an old married couple?”

“Frank started it,” Matt sulked.

“Sue me, Red,” Frank retorted.

“I actually could you know, the law is my _profession_.”

There was a muffled scrape from the other side of the line. “What was that?” Matt asked, tilting his head.

“Just Foggy,” Karen replied offhandedly, “I think he’s going to go and hit his head against the wall a few times.”

Matt wanted to say, ‘sounds like a good idea, I’ll join him,’ but instead, decided to reclaim his maturity and ask in a very reasonable tone of voice, “Okay, tell me more about this conspiracy.”

“Well,” Karen’s voice got that investigative-journalist-hot-on-scent note again as she told him, “There are procedures for dead bodies, strict rules and paperwork that happens on the scene and in the morgue that is just _gone_ , and Claire says –”

“ _Claire_?” Matt interrupted. “Are you investigating or flirting?

“I can multitask,” Karen protested.

“She really can,” Foggy added.

“Claire _says_ ,” Karen pressed on, “that the only person who could make an entire body disappear like that, along with its paperwork, is someone who’s…on the inside.”

“The _inside_? Of what, city hall?” Matt’s fists twitched at the mere thought, rage flashing through his body at the idea of the corruption Fisk had poisoned the city with still coursing through the veins of New York’s government.

“Yeah,” Foggy confirmed solemnly.

“So…” Frank’s voice was low and dangerous as he began to speak. “What happened that day…it’s bigger than just the gangs. Bigger than even the Dogs and the Cartel and the Irish all put together.”

“Um, yes,” Karen replied, voice small in the face of Frank’s barely restrained fury. “Much bigger, if our hunches are right.”

Frank went quiet, and Matt was struck by the volumes his different silences spoke. His shoulders were hunched, trigger finger twitching, heartbeat steady but fiercer somehow, as if it could be intensified by sheer rage – this was nothing like the tired, placid quiet of the Frank who’d been sleeping next to Matt last night.

“Alright, Karen, thank you,” Matt reached for the phone, finger hovering over the end call button. “Call if you learn anything more, and let us know how it goes with the coroner.”

“Oh! Okay, well goodbye –”

“Goodbye.” Matt hung up the phone in a hurry, following as Frank rose heavily to his feet.

“You know that you can’t go out there,” he remarked calmly, keeping his tone and body language non-confrontational.

“Do I? Do I know that, Red?” Frank’s whole body was practically trembling with energy, with a desire for _blood_ , and Matt could sympathize with that, he really and truly could, but even he knew this was not the time to kick and claw his way to justice.

“Frank…”

“Now, why do I get the feeling you’re about to say something that earns you a punch in the nose?” Frank took a step towards him, fists at his sides, and Matt raised his hands in surrender, quickly rearranging his features into his most innocent expression.

“Who, me? No, I was just about to ask…” Matt cast around for something to say that wasn’t ‘let other people take care of this for once and don’t go out there guns blazing,’ which he was fairly certain was both dreadfully hypocritical and what would earn him that punch.

“…if you wanted to play poker?” he finally finished, pulling out the smile he generally used to dazzle his way past recalcitrant secretaries and personal assistants.

“Do I… _what_?” Frank rocked back on his heels, some of the fight leaving his body as he blinked in confusion. “There’s some sorta goddamn government conspiracy going on out there, and you wanna play _cards_?”

“Yeah, Frank, I do. I want to sit down and play some goddamn cards while two very smart, resourceful, and determined people untangle this whole conspiracy theory _thing_. I want to stay the hell out of their way, so we don’t mess it up, so that the _right_ people can end up behind bars.”

Frank’s combative stance wavered again, and Matt dove in after the weakness. “I want to make sure that when we take down the _real_ bad guys the charges against them _stick_ , so they’re gone permanently. The best way to do that is to keep things as legal as possible, which means not having a wanted man show up with an AK-47 on the steps of City Hall.”

“Where the hell do you get off telling me to just let the _law_ take care of things, huh? You were the fucking Devil of Hell’s Kitchen long before I set my sights on this city’s scum.”

“I know, Frank, trust me, I _do_. I know because last time I tried to take down something this big by myself, I almost got cut to ribbons. I needed _help_ from my _friends_ to finish the job. And it wasn’t– it wasn’t the _Devil_ that brought down Fisk, not alone. It was the good cops and yes, the law, that brought him to justice.”

“So, I’m supposed to just stay cooped up here, with _you_ , is that right? Cause I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I mean, if you don’t think you can beat me…” Matt meandered over to the bed, scooping up the deck of cards and shuffling it idly.

“Oh, no, no, _no_ ,” Frank shook his head, “you can’t think I’d fall for that.”

“Of course not. You’re too sensible to be ruled by your ego. Which is also why you won’t let your pride drag you out that door and straight into a jail cell.” Matt smiled, sharp and satisfied.

Frank glanced between the door and Matt, gaze finally deciding to settle on Matt as he grumbled, “Deal the damn cards.”

Matt hopped onto the bed with a grin, crossing his legs and giving the cards one last shuffle before beginning to deal out their hands.

“What are we gonna play for?” Frank asked as he settled on the bed across from Matt.

“Not money, that’s for sure. I’m broke, _so_ broke, and Foggy would murder me three times over if I managed to squander my last pitiful savings while locked up here with you.”

“Okay then…” Frank’s pulse did something interesting Matt couldn’t decipher before saying, “Strip poker.”

Matt actually laughed out loud, gesturing meaningfully towards his eyes as he replied, “As tempting as that is, I think I’d be getting the short end of the stick on that deal.”

“Yeah…” Frank agreed, and his tone sounded almost…wistful? Matt chose not to dwell on that, instead offering the suggestion, “How about we play with the M&M’s in the minibar?”

“Hmm, a really high stakes game.”

“You’d better believe it,” Matt deadpanned as he retrieved the candy. “I don’t kid around when it comes to waxy corporate chocolate.”

Frank ripped open the package, equally dividing the M&MS between them. “Let’s do this.”

After a few rounds during which the pot grew to include a whopping 30 M&Ms, Matt found himself with a Full House.

“Call,” Matt declared, tossing his hand down with a grin. “What’ve you got?”

“Sorry, Red…” Frank laid his cards out neatly in front of him, “Four of a kind.”

Matt gaped, hand shooting out to feel the braille on the corners of Frank’s cards, confirming that, yes, he did in fact have the winning hand.

“But…but your heartbeat…” Matt muttered, trying to wrap his head around his defeat.

“My _heartbeat_? Why, Red,” Frank’s tone turned to one of mock affront, “you weren’t trying to _cheat_ me, were you?”

“Of course I was,” Matt replied distractedly, “But you’re still beating me. _No one_ beats me.”

“Mmm. Don’t know quite what to make of me, do you?”

“I never do,” Matt sighed, gathering up the cards and shuffling them pensively.

“Think your ego can take another round?” Frank smirked, organizing his winnings into neat little rows that Matt suspected were color-coordinated.

“My ego will manage, because I _have_ to know how you’re doing this.”

“I learned to play when I was a kid at my dad’s elbow, and I refined the art in the army – used to clean out my buddies on the regular. Guess you’re used to dealing with a lower class of players.”

“No, that’s not it,” Matt dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand like it was an annoying gnat he could swat. “Either you have truly incredible and unlikely control over your body’s autonomic functions or…”

“Or…?”

“You’re insane. Or just an idiot. That would explain why you don’t have any unconscious reactions of excitement or disappointment – you just don’t know what the hell you’re holding. You’re like a monkey throwing random cards in the air.”

“Well, this monkey is planning on taking you for everything you have.”

“We shall see,” Matt handed the deck over to Frank. “Deal.”

~~~~~

They tied, almost exactly. It took Matt awhile, but if he concentrated hard enough, he was able to spot the smallest sort of signals that Frank was giving off. The slightest hitch in his breath when he was handed the cards he needed, the flare of his nostrils when the hand he was holding went south. But they were the tiniest of signs, and Matt had to expend some of his energy and concentration covering his own tells – Frank had eyes like a hawk, a hawk who was actually a shark, with no mercy and an insatiable need to take all of Matt’s M&Ms for his own.

In the end, Frank was the victor, being in possession of two more M&Ms than Matt when the knock came at the door with their dinner.

Matt did his best not to fume as they ate their meal, but it was hard, especially when he could feel the self-satisfaction coming off of Frank in waves.

“You know, I could have won if you hadn’t kept dealing me such bad hands,” Matt pointed out, emphasizing his words with a stab of his fork.

“Whatever you say, babycakes.”

“Seriously, they weren’t hands, they were more like feet.”

“Mmmhmm,” Frank nodded benignly as Matt continued to pout.

“I bet I could beat you in blackjack.”

“Sure.”

They spent the rest of dinner trading various stories of past poker games, trying to outdo each other as they spun tales of wins snatched right out from under their opponent’s noses and perfect hands that never got to be played. Before they knew it, their plates were clear and the sun was setting.

“So…more cards?” Frank asked, leaning idly back on the bed as Matt rolled the food trolley outside.

“We ate all the M&Ms,” Matt pointed out as he returned, plopping down next to Frank.

“True… We should have asked Karen to pack a board game or something.”

“Nothing like a little Monopoly to relieve the tedium.”

“I expect boredom isn’t particularly common in the honeymoon suite,” Frank remarked, “I’d imagine the usual occupants have quite a bit to keep them _entertained_.”

Matt groaned and let himself tip over face-first onto the bed in frustration. “I _hate_ you,” he muttered into the comforter.

“Ah, you’re just still mad that you lost. You know, no one likes a sore loser. My old man used to say, you should judge a man by the way he takes failure, not success.”

Matt hmmed and flipped back over, tucking his hands under his head. “My dad probably would have agreed with that. Especially considering how many times he had his ass handed to him.”

“What did he do for a living?”

“He was a fighter, a boxer.”

“Why am I not surprised? Guess you took after him.”

“Yeah. He…” Matt paused, the story of his father on the tip of his tongue. Was he really going to tell this to Frank? Just because they were in some sort of bizarre truce that maybe even resembled friendship…should he be handing him his weakest points, his biggest regrets, his greatest fears, just to have them exploited and used against him some day in the future when Daredevil tried to stop the Punisher from killing?

Frank waited for Matt to continue, not pushing or prodding. He was just…there. And he would be, even if Matt didn’t say another word. And maybe that was why Matt decided to open up – because hell, Frank was _there_ , and he didn’t have to be. Even in his weakened condition, he could have gotten past Matt, he could have busted out of their lacy prison and rampaged through the city’s bureaucrats, blasting his way to his own brand of justice. But he hadn’t. He’d listened to logic, or Matt, or maybe even his own conscience, if it still existed, and for whatever reason he was _here_. And that was…something.

“He didn’t want me to fight. He wanted me to use my head, not my fists. He didn’t want me to be like him.”

Frank stayed silent for a moment before he replied, voice just a low rasp, “Then…I guess he’d be real damn proud of you right now.”

Matt tilted his head towards Frank, his heart doing some kind of uncomfortable gymnastics in his chest at those words. “I’d like to think so,” he whispered, grateful that his voice didn’t crack.

There was another stretch of silence before Frank shuffled his long limbs, stretching his legs out and leaning back on the bed so he was laying parallel to Matt.

“Tell me about him,” he murmured, voice quieter and softer than Matt had ever imagined it could be.

So, Matt told him.

~~~~~

Matt couldn’t take it anymore. He’d tried to lie there quietly and let the sound roll off of him and fade into the omnipresent din but. He. Just. Couldn’t.

With a slightly desperate growl, Matt reached up to slam the sides of his pillow against his ears, the endless sound of “shake, shake, shake, shake it off” driving him to distraction. On its own, it was a perfectly acceptable song, one he may have even enjoyed under the right circumstances – but blasting out of wretchedly tinny speakers in the middle of the night was _not the right circumstances_.

A disgruntled snuffle broke through the vortex of pop swirling around his mind, and he realized that his frustrated thrashing had woken Frank. He didn’t care. So what? Misery loves company.

Matt felt Frank’s half-asleep gaze rake over him, but didn’t bother opening his eyes from where they were screwed shut, or even acknowledging that Frank was conscious.

“What’s up with you?” Frank mumbled, sounding more confused than irritated at his unexpected awakening, which Matt would have taken as a small victory if he could focus on anything other than the haters who were hate, hate, hating on his poor beleaguered eardrums.

“ _Taylor. Swift_.” Matt gritted out.

“Do you…do you want me to assassinate her or…?”

“No assassinations are necessary,” Matt decided after a moment of being briefly tempted by the offer, slowly letting the pillow pressed against his ears fall. “Though I am seriously considering going downstairs and throwing the radio of the person below us out the window. Or just jumping off the balcony myself to a blessedly quiet death.”

“I could go down and –”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Does it involve guns?”

“Technically, yes, but only to give ‘em a bit of a scare –”

“So, still – no.”

“Killjoy. Your loss, anyway, me and my normal person hearing are just fine and Taylor Swift-free.”

“Yeah. That’s why I can’t _actually_ go down and ask the young lady – who smells like strawberry-kiwi bathwash and has been singing along in the wrong key for about an hour now, if you were wondering – to turn her music down. It would be a bit hard to explain.”

“Mmm. Is this how it is for you all the time, Red? How do you ever sleep?”

“Usually I can tune it out, but this place is unfamiliar, the sounds keep changing and moving and I can’t find anything to focus on –” Matt cut himself off before his mouth decided to say anything more damning like, ‘it’s hard to focus with you _right there_ , being all distracting and indecipherable and weirdly enticing.’ He should definitely not say any of that out loud, especially the last part.

“What d’you usually focus on?”

“Uh…depends. The grandfather clock two floors above my apartment, the buzz of the billboard outside, sometimes a familiar heartbeat…” Matt trailed off, wondering if he’d already said too much, shown too much weakness.

“I get that,” Frank replied, tone thoughtful. “I mean, I don’t know shit about supersenses, but when I was overseas and there was all kinds of noise on the base and I couldn’t sleep, I’d concentrate on the tick of my watch. It wasn’t real loud, so I really had to….you know, center myself, or whatever.”

Frank didn’t have a watch on him now, Matt noted, and before he could think better of the question, he asked, “What do you concentrate on now?” Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he realized that he already knew what Frank must think about, what he was almost always thinking about.

Frank was quiet for a moment, and even before he made a sound, Matt could tell he’d closed himself back off from whatever freak moment of openness they’d been sharing.

“Kittens and rainbows, Red.”

“Right.”

“Occasionally unicorns.”

“Bite me.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

“Definitely gonna have to ask nicely for that.”

Matt groaned and dragged the fluffy pillow over his head, trying futilely to smother himself with it.

“You’re worse than the Taylor Swift,” he complained from under its downy depths.

“People have said a lot of things about me, but that’s a new one,” Frank remarked, sounding altogether too amused at Matt’s plight.

Matt did his best to ignore Frank as he gave up on smothering himself and chose instead to butt the top of his skull against the headboard as if he could knock the catchy pop strains out of his brain.

“Hey,” Frank grunted, reaching up and grabbing Matt by the scruff of his T-shirt, hauling him back down the bed. Matt squeaked indignantly at being treated like a naughty puppy, batting at Frank’s hand until he released him.

“Just cause you can’t sleep doesn’t mean that no one else is allowed to,” Frank reprimanded him sternly, as if Matt was an ill-behaved child and not a dangerous vigilante who was quite able (and, at this level of exhaustion, quite _likely_ ) to beat him senseless. “Quit your racket. And your whining.”

“Don’t manhandle me,” Matt retorted stubbornly. “Or presume to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Boohoo. You have superpowers. I think you can _deal_ with a few shitty side-effects.”

“Well, aren’t you sure of yourself.”

“It’s a requirement in my line of business.”

“What line of business would that be? Murder?”

“Justice.”

“ _Murder_.”

“Well, we could spend the rest of the night debating morality, if that’s what you want.”

“I think I’ll take the Taylor Swift.”

“Then take it. _Quietly_. Shut the fuck up and suck it the fuck up and go to sleep already.”

And with those wise words Frank rolled over, slipping back into unconsciousness in under a minute.

Matt just lay there; head swirling worse than before, but at least no longer with a chart-topping refrain. Finally, his exhaustion got the better of him, and with great reluctance he did what he knew he should have done as soon as that damned song started to ring in his ears: he let his hearing hone in on the steady thump of Frank’s heart. It was strong and true, and within moments, Matt’s turbulent thoughts grew sluggish, and before he knew it, he was lulled into a dreamless sleep, carried through the night on a deep unwavering beat.

~~~~~

Matt jolted awake at a gentle rapping on the door. As his senses snapped into focus, he registered the sugary-sweet scent of freshly baked dough and the spice of bacon wafting in from the hallway – breakfast.

Frank was still dead to the world as Matt went to the door and retrieved their food, pushing the little trolley to the foot of the bed quietly.

He took a moment to consider his choices: he could let Frank continue sleeping (pros: Frank would be safely unconscious and out of Matt’s hair for a while longer, cons: he’d be pissed as all hell when he woke up and found Matt had eaten the last pastry) or he could wake him up. Deciding that annoyed-at-being-woken-Frank was a more pleasing (or at least, less lethal) option than pastry-less-Frank, Matt reached down and, in a small fit of childishness, tickled the bottom of Frank’s foot.

“Whadafuck—” Frank bolted upright, getting himself hopelessly tangled in the sheets as he grabbed protectively at his foot.

Matt started to chuckle, which escalated into giggles, which turned into him laughing so hard he had to clutch the breakfast trolley for support.

“Oh, real funny, Red,” Frank grumbled irritably, “real mature.”

Matt struggled for air, finally managing to choke out, “you’re _ticklish_!”

“No I’m fucking not.”

“Oh, yes you are!”

“ _No_ –” Frank’s protest came too late, as Matt had already dived gleefully towards Frank’s feet, fingers outstretched. Frank fell heavily off the side of the bed in his attempt to escape, but Matt followed him easily.

“I bet it’s not just your feet that are ticklish…” Matt speculated aloud as he ducked around Frank’s flailing limbs.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Frank warned, but Matt already had his hands slipping under Frank’s tee to poke at his sides, an action which immediately elicited a really wonderfully embarrassing little squeak from the ticklee.

Matt laughed with delight at the reaction, and was redoubling his efforts when the voice of an unknown woman gasping “Oh my god!” intruded violently on their tussle.

The two froze almost comically, mid-wrestle, at the sound of the mysterious newcomer.

The sharp smell of cleaning supplies, a neatly pressed uniform, and an armful of fresh towels…it took Matt barely a second to realize a hotel maid had just accidentally wandered in on them in a, well, a rather _compromising_ position.

Matt felt heat rise in his cheeks as it occurred to him what this must look like, him straddling Frank with his hands rucking up the other man’s shirt, both of them tangled up in the bed’s silk sheets…

“I’m so sorry,” the maid babbled, “the service sign was on the handle and I just thought…”

“Oh, this isn’t what it…” Matt started to try and explain, before he realized where they were and who they were pretending to be, and wisely snapped his mouth shut.

“I should, uh, go…” the unfortunate maid mumbled, backing away from the scene.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, sounding far too composed given the current situation, “you probably should.”

“Sorry! Again!” she squeaked as she dropped the towels haphazardly onto the nearest flat surface and beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door shut behind her.

Matt stayed frozen in horror for another moment before he realized that Frank’s shoulders had started to shake with silent laughter.

“That’s what you get for not bolting the door,” Frank managed to say before cracking up.

“Oh, please…” Matt tried to keep a serious face but failed spectacularly within moments, dissolving into laughter alongside Frank.

“Get _off_ ,” Frank wheezed as they struggled to catch their breath, heaving Matt bodily off of where he’d collapsed half on top of Frank.

They just lay there for a minute, side by side on the ground with the bed sheets still jumbled hopelessly up in their limbs, until Matt decided to break the silence by gesturing grandly at the food trolley and announcing, “Breakfast is served.”

Matt could sense Frank’s shoulder twitching rebelliously with renewed laughter before he tamped down on that emotion, heaving himself upright and tearing himself free of the entrapping sheets. “Well, I think that’s enough screwing around for one morning, Red.”

“Of _course_ ,” Matt drawled lazily, still sprawled on the ground, unconcerned, “Because we have so much _else_ to do.”

Frank picked up a grape from the bowl of fruit and flicked it at Matt, who snatched it easily out of the air and popped into his mouth with a grin.

“Show off,” Frank mumbled with more affection than venom.

They managed to pass the morning with quiet pursuits, Matt returning to his novel and Frank once again settling down into endless rounds of solitaire. Lunch was a similarly quiet affair, and the early afternoon was a monotonous haze of Matt alternately attempting to focus on the braille under his fingers, giving up and listening to the soft swish of Frank shuffling the deck of cards, and falling into deep thought that generally ended when his own mind became too morbid for him to stand.

In a fit of boredom, Matt tossed down his book, stomped over to where Frank was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and hopped up next to him. “Deal.”

They played one spirited round of cards before Matt determined them both too on edge to play anything competitive, a realization arrived at when  a minor disagreement over the respective merits of Eight Card Stud versus Texas Hold ‘Em nearly led to fisticuffs.

In a tone of utter seriousness, Frank suggested a round of “I, Spy”, to which Matt calmly retrieved his glass of water from the bedside table and poured it over Frank’s head, which lead to a blue streak of swearing and Frank grabbing Matt by his shirtfront, dragging him to the balcony, dumping him on his ass, and then locking the door behind him.

Matt rattled the handle and knocked on the glass, calling out “Frank! For God’s sake, this is childish.”

A minute passed with no response, and after a last half-hearted knock, Matt gave up with a sigh. Maybe a bit of space wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

“Bit of trouble with your better half, I see?”

Matt jerked his head in surprise at the amused voice coming from about ten feet to his left.

“Uh…you could say that,” Matt replied diplomatically.

“Mmm.” The owner of the voice, an older man from what Matt could gather, and whom Matt assumed was standing on an adjacent balcony and not just floating in mid-air a dozen stories up (though this was New York, and one could never be sure) continued, “If I had a dime for every time my lady kicked me to the curb, well…”

“You could actually afford to stay in this place without going into debt?” Matt finished for him, with a grin.

“Ha! Well, maybe not _this_ place. The Hilton, perhaps,” the man conceded with a chuckle. “My name’s Jim. My wife and I are vacationing here for a bit. What about you?”

“Honeymoon, actually,” Matt admitted with a wince.

“Ah. How long have the two of you been married?”

“Um, about…” Matt thought for a moment. Had it really been that little time? “About three days.”

“Oh-ho! My, my, you’re off to a bit of a rough start.”

“You should’ve been there when we met.”

“I’ll bet that was a sight to see!”

“Indeed.”

A woman’s voice calling, “Jim! Let’s go, we’ll be late!” drifted out onto the balcony.

“Be there in a minute!” Jim called back before turning back to Matt. “A bit of advice for you,” he leaned against the edge of the banister conspiratorially, “It’ll work out between you two – more fighting just means more passion. The trick is to make better use of that… _passion_. Channel it into more _productive_ outlets, if you catch my drift.”

Matt did indeed catch his drift.

“Well, best of luck to you!” Jim waved a cheery goodbye, which Matt returned weakly, feeling a bit dizzy suddenly. Heights didn’t usually bother him, but he was starting to feel something akin to vertigo.

He started violently when the balcony door flew open next to him.

“Who the hell are you talking to out here?” Frank grumbled, sticking his head outside and inspecting their surroundings with suspicion. “You pals with the pigeons?”

“Nope, just chatting with our neighbor,” Matt waved in the direction of the now-vacant balcony next door.

“Huh. I thought by now you would have…” Frank made a vague flapping motion with his hand that Matt took to indicate leaping off of the Carlyle’s balcony, “to stop someone from under-tipping a bellhop or some shit.”

Matt snorted a laugh at that despite himself. “No, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Besides, I was busy being advised on how our marital relationship might improve if we made, uh, _different_ use of our destructive energies.”

“Like sex?” Frank concluded.

“That was, I believe, the implication,” Matt agreed lightly.

Frank shrugged. “Not the worst idea.”

Matt chose not to linger on _that_ response, instead asking, “So, why the unexpected show of mercy? I thought for sure I’d be sleeping under the stars.”

“Well, I was just thinking about playing Russian Roulette, and I thought you might want to join me.”

Matt pretended to consider it for a moment before shaking his head ruefully, “I could tell if there was a bullet in the chamber, so it wouldn’t exactly be fair.”

“And besides, you made me leave all my guns at your place.”

“Mmhmm,” Matt agreed, although he was fully aware Frank had still managed to smuggle a .380 into his luggage with Karen’s assistance.

They ended up Googling card games on Matt’s phone, and spent the rest of the afternoon squabbling their way through hands of Crazy Eights and struggling to figure out the rules to Gin Rummy.

They relocated from the bed to the chairs near the coffee table for dinner, and by the time Matt had pushed the food trolley back into the hall (and remembered to bolt the door behind him, this time) Frank was dealing the cards with a good deal more force than was necessary, and it was all too clear that another game would not suffice to keep him distracted for much longer.

As it was, when Matt’s phone started to buzz and announce “Karen. Karen. Karen.” from where he’d abandoned it on the bed, Matt virtually dived for it and Frank threw down his cards, muttering, “It’s about fucking time.”

Matt barely managed to get out a “Hey, Ka—” before he was cut off by her grim proclamation: “We’ve got it.”

“You’ve got what?”

“The key to the case. What was missing, _why_ so much was missing…all of it.”

“I’ll put you on speaker.” Matt tapped a button and set the phone on the table as he sat back down, Frank’s chair creaking as he leaned in closer.

“So, we tracked down that coroner,” Karen began, the sound of shuffling papers crackling along the phone line, “the one we thought could give us some answers? Well, he did.”

“Boy, did he,” Foggy inserted, sounding as grim as Karen, which did nothing for Matt’s increasing trepidation. “It turns out that the missing body? He had a police call sign tucked in his shoe.”

“But that means…” Matt trailed off as all the implications of that started to slot into place.

“It was a STING,” Karen confirmed evenly. “We’ve got incriminating paperwork from our contact in City Hall with pieces of the operation order, an old biker pal of Foggy’s confirmed that the gangs knew there were cops involved with the massacre –” 

“–though he refuses to testify—”

“–hell, even _Claire_ heard chatter on the streets about the gangs getting riled up at rumors of police infiltrating their ranks –”

“—though ER gossip won’t hold up in court.” There was a sharp thwack and an “ow!” as Matt imagined Karen punched Foggy in the arm.

“Big picture,” Karen continued, “Is that this whole trail of corruption leads right to the DA’s office,”

“The DA’s office?” Matt wondered aloud. “As in…Reyes herself?”

“Who?” Frank spoke for the first time, voice steady but with an undercurrent of wrath that belied its calmness.

“She’s the current district attorney,” Matt answered.

“And next mayoral hopeful,” Foggy added. “Leading me to have impossibly less faith in our government, because this shitshow has Reyes’ fingerprints all over it.”

“Great.” Matt squeezed his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, now we’re not just trying to bring down three of the biggest gangs in Hell’s Kitchen, but we also have to depose a crooked DA.”

“Hey, compared to taking down Wilson Fisk, it should be a walk in the park,” Foggy joked breezily. Matt paused, and swore he could almost hear the proverbial penny drop when Foggy realized what he’d just said.

“Um. Bad choice of phrase,” Foggy whispered, sounding as if he feared Frank was about to somehow reach through the telephone line and strangle him for his verbal faux pau.

“But, actually…” Karen began tentatively, drawing in a deep breath as Matt imagined she steeled herself. “Frank, I have to ask…what _do_ you remember? About that day in the park?”

Frank, who’d become increasingly tense as the conversation went on, was now a veritable statue, sitting with military rigor on the edge of the poufy armchair, his suddenly implacable disposition jarring after a couple days of relative ease. With an unpleasant pang of grief in his chest, Matt was reminded how quickly the ruthless killer that lived inside Frank could rear his head.

“Uh, Frank? Matt? You guys there?” Karen’s hesitant voice didn’t seem to elicit any reaction from Frank who was, as far as Matt could tell, just staring blankly into the space in front of him.

Matt opened his mouth to respond but was beat to it by Frank, who suddenly gave his head a little shake as if trying to pull himself out of a trance, and answered haltingly, “I don’t really…I can’t always…the, uh, the memories go in and out…”

“Well, the thing is,” Karen replied gently, “the records of the civilian deaths, of what really happened in the park that day…they’re all gone. Swept under the rug by the DA. But you – your testimony could bring it all back. That’s why they put the Do Not Resuscitate order on you, because if you came out of your coma, you’d bring Reyes’ whole cover-up crashing down.

“So, can you do that Frank? Can you testify to what you saw?”

There was a beat of silence, and then another, and then Frank managed to reply, voice raw with emotion, “Yeah. Yeah I can do that.”

“Okay, great,” Foggy jumped in, “Because our contact in the DA’s office has set up a meeting with the attorney general, and if we can produce a witness that proves the official record of the carousel hit was altered, well… Reyes won’t be running for mayor any time soon.”

“That’s good,” Matt nodded encouragingly.

“And Frank, we think we can get you immunity.”

Frank seemed unmoved at that, while Matt sputtered, “ _Full_ immunity? You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not. For a government conspiracy this size, _especially_ after the city was supposed to have gotten rid of all of Fisk’s corruption? I think Frank could’ve blown away half of Rykers and they’d still be willing to write it off as an error in judgement.”

“Wow. That’s _very_ good.” Matt directed this comment at Frank, who still seemed indifferent to the eighth wonder of the world which was _full immunity_ for a man likely facing dozens of counts of premeditated homicide.

In fact, Frank seemed to have returned to his previous immobile state, just staring grimly ahead at the wall. Matt took a moment to read the signals Frank was giving off and realized with a skip of his heart that Frank wasn’t still – he was almost _vibrating_ with repressed emotion. Rage, anguish, it was hard to tell, but Matt was pretty sure that whatever it was, it had just exploded like a forest fire inside Frank, and he was struggling to control the blaze.

Time to put this conversation to an end.

“Well, Foggy, Karen,” Matt began calmly, “you have done some _amazing_ work.”

“You bet we have,” Foggy grumbled, “I should be getting overtime for this. Oh, wait, I’m self-employed and broke. That’s a shame.”

“It really is,” Matt agreed mildly, “So I suppose I should really stop monopolizing your time. We can talk later.”

There was a moment of quiet from the other end of the line before Karen replied, a little doubtfully, “Um, yeah, sounds good. We’ll iron out all the details on this end. You two just…stay where you are, out of sight, and we’ll call you when we’ve got the final deal. If we’re lucky, this could be done by dinnertime tomorrow.”

“Alright. Thank you both again. Goodbye.”

Matt reached out and tapped the end call button without further ado, and then slowly, so as not to spook Frank into any accidental acts of homicide, moved to set his hand gently on Frank’s knee.

“Frank.” No response.

“ _Frank_. I’m sorry, I really am, but the fact is that you might be one of the only people still alive to tell the world what happened that day.”

“I know.” Matt relaxed by a fraction at the sound of Frank’s voice, cracked and rough but at least not boiling over with rage. “That’s not what…It’s just… _god_ , Red, this last day or so…it’s like I _forgot_.” The horror, the _revulsion_ in Frank’s tone made Matt feel like the floor had just dropped out from beneath him.

“No, Frank, no,” Matt fumbled a little as he reached out to grasp Frank’s hands, cold despite the hot blood pounding wildly through his veins. “You didn’t _forget_. Just because you weren’t thinking about it every second, just because your every moment wasn’t being _haunted_ , that doesn’t mean you _forgot_. You were just…living your life.”

“Oh, yeah?” The rage that had been sizzling underneath Frank’s skin burst into life, burning through the loathing in his voice as he boomed, “What _business_ do I have being alive? What the hell am I doing with this _life_? Sitting here, playing house with _you_?” Frank growled and heaved himself to his feet. In the space of a moment, his façade of control dropped away, revealing how very much he was aching to be moving, punching, _doing_. “See, yesterday, we had nothing to move on. I could convince myself that I didn’t need to be out there. But _now_? Now, I have a concrete target and not a single goddamn reason not to go out there and _end this_.”

Matt raised his hands in what he imagined was a futile gesture of calm. “Frank, I’m not going to throw some platitudes at you, or try and tell you how to live your life.”

“That’s a relief.”

“But I’m also not going to let you leave. Bullets aren’t going to solve governmental corruption. We’re _way_ too close to the finish line for you to blow it now because of your temper.”

“Oh, really? _You_ aren’t gonna _let_ me?” Frank shifted into a fighting stance. “You wanna see if you can take me, Red?”

“Oh for– _Frank_.” Matt’s eyebrows flew up in disbelief. “I’m not going to _fight_ you…”

“Yeah? That’s too bad, because I am just about _done_ sitting on my ass doing _nothing_ , and if I can’t find a fight here…” Frank shrugged and leaned meaningfully towards the door.

“Really?” Matt rose languidly, keeping his body language as calm as possible, while inwardly prepping for a fight, because it was _Frank_. He may have caged the beast for the last few days, but it was all too apparent now that that had just been a brief respite while Frank’s injuries had kept him comparatively docile. _This_ was the Frank Castle who’d torn through the underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen like he was gutting a fish, and it was now glaringly obvious to Matt that he should have been expecting this renewed outburst of bloodlust from the get-go.

“Our honeymoon suite doesn’t seem the place to start brawling,” Matt pointed out, even as he moved to plant his legs more firmly, hands hanging in ready fists at his sides.

“Who said anything about brawling? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of sparring between friends.”

“Is that what we are, Frank? Friends?”

Matt could _feel_ the energy in the room shift, and if he’d wanted to he might have even been able to talk Frank down – but the truth was, he _didn’t_ want to. Frank wasn’t the only one who’d been struggling to cage his beast.

“Guess that depends how this goes,” Frank answered, before hurtling forward and tackling Matt at the waist, slamming him into the plush carpet.

Matt hit the ground with his lips split in a wide grin despite himself, because _goddamn_ he’d been close to losing it too, and it felt _good_ to get his blood pumping again. Before Frank could get a better hold on him, Matt hooked a leg around his knee and flipped them, ramming Frank back into the carpet before leaping up and away. He raised his hands in loose fists, ready to go as Frank gave his head a shake before climbing to his feet.

Frank came at him again but Matt danced out of his reach, bouncing tantalizingly close before weaving around Frank’s fierce blows and grabs, always staying one step ahead.

This wasn’t anything like their earlier fights. Frank was still slow, recovering from his injuries, and Matt didn’t have blood and anger pounding in his ears. No, his heart was racing for an entirely different reason, a reason he’d been ignoring for a few days now, but which might not stand to be repressed any longer.

Before he could overthink it, Matt snapped his wrist to give Frank’s ass a sharp slap as he tripped him with one well-placed foot.

Frank landed hard on his knees with a whoosh of breath, but was barely down for a moment before he was back in the game, just missing getting ahold of Matt’s elbow by a hair.

“ _Goddammit_ ,” Frank swore with feeling, as Matt avoided another of his swipes with ease. “How do you _do_ that?”

“Super senses, Frank, you _know_ this,” Matt smirked.

“Yeah, but….” Frank threw a lightning fast left hook that Matt ducked away from and met with a sharp jab to Frank’s ribcage. “ _How_?”

“Well…”Matt drawled, moving purposefully to within Frank’s grasp, and skipping away when Frank predictably swiped at him. “I can hear the brush of your clothes and the beat of your heart.”

Matt grabbed Frank’s fist as it swung, twisting it behind his back.

“I can sense your body moving through the air, I can tell where you’re going to throw your punches almost before you do.”

Matt swept Frank’s legs out from under him, sending him toppling over onto his front, hitting the ground with a resounding _thunk_.

“I can feel the heat of your skin as it gets closer.”

Matt pressed Frank hard into the carpet, pinning his legs with his own, grappling with Frank’s other arm before trapping them both between his chest and Frank’s back.

“I can smell your sweat and your adrenaline,” Matt murmured, voice honey sweet in Frank’s ear as he gave his arm a vindictive little twist, making him writhe and swear under his breath.

“I can tell more about a man in a _second_ than even someone as trained as you could with a week of recon.”

“Oh, yeah?” Frank huffed, still straining against Matt’s hold. “And what can you tell about me right now, Red?”

“I…” Matt swept his senses over Frank’s body. Breathing fast. Heightened pulse. Rising hormone levels.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Frank breathed, before grinding his hips back and up against Matt’s.

Matt gasped at the unexpected friction, his grip loosening a fraction, and it was enough for Frank to twist his arms free, flipping onto his back but not trying to get out from under where Matt was straddling him, mouth hanging open in shock.

“C’mon, Red,” Frank whispered, voice rough with a heady mix of exertion and desire that was going straight to Matt’s head and…other places. “All your fancy _super senses_ and you didn’t know?”

“I….well…” Matt stuttered, his finely-constructed shield of denial crumbling in the face of the raw heat of Frank’s body, so close and so open.

“Are you in or not, Red?” Frank asked simply.

Matt blinked. It was a simple question, but he could already feel a hundred and one arguments queueing up in his mind to battle it out. He knew if he let himself get sucked into analyzing and second-guessing his every feeling and desire and misgiving and rationale, he’d be frozen with indecision.

But ultimately, what mattered was: did Matt _want_ this?

Yes.

So, what the hell, he decided. A honeymoon suite was about as appropriate a venue as there was likely to be. When in Rome….

Without further ado, Matt leaned down and kissed Frank, harsh and messy. As their mouths slotted together, Frank’s hands reached up to grip Matt’s waist, dragging him down so their bodies were pressed together into one long line of heat.

Matt pulled back to try and catch a breath, but Frank took advantage of the reprieve to mouth his way down Matt’s jaw to apply his less-than-tender ministrations to the column of his throat, teeth flashing against the sensitive skin.

He gripped the front of Frank’s shirt and dragged him upright, recapturing his mouth and darting his tongue inside before leaning back so he could struggle to his feet, pulling Frank upright along with him.

“So…” he began, voice trailing off as he stumbled slightly, the blood rushing to his head at the sudden change in altitude, making him unsteady.

“We should fuck,” Frank declared bluntly.

“Wow.” Matt raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Ever the romantic. It's no wonder that you won my heart. Are you going to be this way for the rest of our marriage?"

“Could you just answer the damn question?”

“That wasn’t a question, actually, it was a statement –”

“Jesus, you’re such a fucking _lawyer_ –”

“It’s true, I am indeed, but –”

Frank cut him off with a bruising kiss, and by the time he relinquished Matt’s mouth, Matt had quite forgotten what he was going to say.

“That’s better, a bit of peace and quiet,” Frank muttered as he herded Matt backwards towards the bed.

“Excuse _you,_ ” Matt complained, “if I want to talk–”

Frank crushed their mouths together again as he sent them toppling back onto the mattress, his bulk pressing Matt into the sheets.

“Damn,” Frank breathed when he pulled away, “if I’d known how well this would shut you up, I’d have done it ages ago.”

“Then get _on_ with it already,” Matt hissed, hips jerking up almost of their own accord.

“Is that a yes?” Frank waited for an answer, holding his body just tantalizing inches above Matt’s.

“Fucking _yes_.” Matt arched his neck up to try and recapture Frank’s mouth, but Frank settled back on his haunches, out of reach.

“Well, first things first,” Frank started to pull at the buttons of Matt’s shirt, “these clothes have to go.”

Matt eagerly helped Frank divest him of his shirt before scrabbling at the hem of Frank’s tee, dragging it over his head.

Frank huffed a laugh as Matt started to tug at the button and zip of Frank’s pants, making little frustrated noises when his progress was impeded by the tangle of their limbs.

“I’ve got this,” Frank batted his hands away, “have you got any supplies or…”

“Yeah, yeah...” Matt shoved Frank out of the way and dived off the other side of the bed, feeling not at all embarrassed about crawling half-naked on all fours to retrieve the condoms he’d kept safely hidden among his things for the duration of their stay.

He emerged from his suitcase victorious, clutching several condoms and a bottle of lube he’d discovered stuffed into one of his shoes. He’d probably have to thank Karen for her foresight, he realized as he shucked off his pants and boxers and jumped back on the bed. Maybe he’d buy her flowers, or chocolate. What was a suitable thank-you-for-imagining-I’d-like-to-fuck-my-fake-husband-and-packing-appropriately gift?

All such thoughts vanished from Matt’s mind as his hands found Frank’s skin again, and he was pleasantly informed that now, they were both quite naked and _quite_ interested in the current proceedings.

“So,” Frank grunted, hand skimming up and down Matt’s side, “what do you—”

“I want you to fuck me,” Matt stated clearly, before Frank could even finish his question.

Frank nodded wordlessly and pressed Matt back down into the sheets, nudging his legs apart so he could settle between them.

The pop of the cap on the lube sent an excited spark flying up Matt’s spine, and the first tentative brush of Frank’s fingers made him gasp, back arching.

Frank shushed him gently, and Matt forced his body to relax. It had been a long while, maybe even college, since he’d done this, but he hoped it was like riding a bike. Or whatever.

Frank slid his first finger inside, and Matt distracted himself from the slightly uncomfortable stretch by reaching out to run his hands over Frank’s features. The opportunity hadn’t arisen for him to actually touch Frank’s face and learn anything more than the vague contours he’d picked up from when they were kissing.

He glided his fingers up the back of Frank’s skull, ran them through the buzzed hair on the top of his head and then back down to drag slowly over the prominent ridge of his forehead, tracing down his cheekbones, along the deep-set sockets of his eyes, tapping his slightly crooked nose and stroking almost reverently along the exquisite bow of his lips.

As his hands slid back up past Frank’s jaw, Matt gasped softly before murmuring reverently as he discovered: “Frank...your _ears_...they're _ridiculous_.”

A laugh punched out of Frank before he turned it into a scoff.

“They're all…sticky-outty,” Matt breathed, sounding exultant.  “They're _adorable_ aren't they.”

“Fuck you,” Frank muttered, his voice rough as he slipped in a second digit.

“Yes!” Matt agreed readily, “That is, in fact, the goal here.” He squirmed impatiently. “Are you about _done_?” he whined, pressing down on Frank’s fingers.

“Hey, settle down.” Frank spread his free hand across Matt’s chest, holding him still. “I don’t want to hurt you, Red. That’s not what this is about.”

Matt stilled, forcing his hands to stop their irritated tugging at Frank’s shoulders, smoothing down his back instead.

“You’re right,” Matt assured him, “That’s not what this is about.”

Frank grunted something like thanks as he slid a third finger inside.

Matt leaned forward to nibble at the edge of Frank’s jaw, reveling in the texture of his stubble as Frank worked him open. Part of him had imagined that Frank would taste the way he smelled most of the time, like gunmetal and blood, but he didn’t. His skin was unexpectedly sweet, jarringly different from everything else about him, but pleasantly so. And the way he was touching Matt…it wasn’t gentle, certainly. It was passionate. Focused. Matt had once listened to the neat clicks of those hands assembling an assault rifle, and now he could feel them taking him apart with the same exacting precision.

Matt’s focus faded in and out as he mouthed distractedly at whatever patch of Frank’s skin was closest, his shoulder, his neck, his chest, as Frank stretched him open. Finally, the rip of a condom package being torn open brought him firmly back to reality, excitement flooding his system anew as Frank’s removed his fingers.

“You look hungry for it, Red,” Frank growled, voice husky but with a teasing note as he slid the condom on and slicked himself up. “You want me that bad?”

Matt shrugged lazily, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. What can I say? I have terrible taste in men.”

“You really fucking do,” Frank agreed, tugging Matt’s legs up and around his waist, lining up with his entrance.

Frank paused, and Matt could feel the hesitation in his bunched muscles, in the slight quake of his hands. It occurred to Matt with a painful twist in his gut that this might well be the first time Frank had touched someone like this since his wife died.

Matt knew well enough not to go anywhere near _that_ topic, but he also knew how to push Frank’s buttons in a fight – so hell if he couldn’t use that knowledge in bed too.

“C’mon, Frank,” Matt breathed, leaning forward to deposit his words directly on Frank’s lips, “Do your worst.”

Frank’s hands tightened instinctively, fingers pressing hard into Matt’s skin. “Is that a challenge?” he retorted, biting at Matt’s lower lip.

“ _Yes_.”

Without another word, Frank pressed into Matt in one, long, delicious swoop, both of them choking on their breath as he bottomed out.

He pulled back slowly, before pounding back inside Matt, driving the air from his lungs, making him clutch at Frank’s shoulders, digging his nails in.

“How’s that, huh?” Frank rasped against Matt’s ear, nipping at the lobe as he set up a steady, measured pace, slamming home hard and deep.

“Oh, please,” Matt panted, his grin a little feral at the edges, “I thought you were gonna give me your _worst_.”

“You know, I can give you something better to do with that mouth of yours than _talk_.” Frank slipped two fingers into Matt’s mouth and he sucked on them eagerly, eliciting a low mutter of “Jesus Christ” from Frank.

“Language,” Matt reprimanded him around the digits he was busy laving expertly.

“I should have fucking known,” Frank muttered, ignoring Matt’s rebuke, “There's no way a man can dress up as the devil every night and not be kinky as fuck.”

“Says the guy who's embraced the name the _Punisher_ ,” Matt retorted with a last lick of Frank’s fingers. “You sound like the tackiest kind of BDSM porn star.”

Matt gasped at Frank’s next thrust, but it didn’t stop him from continuing a little breathlessly, “Seriously, I’d expect to find you on the shelf next to ‘The Avengers Unrated’ and ‘Spider-Man XXX’…”

Another thrust had Matt’s toes curling as he choked out, “With lots of terrible puns and erotic gunplay…”

“For fuck’s sake, Red,” Frank snarled, “you’re so goddamn _chatty_.”

“You’re right, I am. Do I need to be… _punished_?”

Frank didn’t respond, except by grabbing Matt by the thighs and hiking him up higher on his waist. He started slamming back into Matt and the new angle was – there really wasn’t another word for it – _punishing_. In the best possible way.

Frank’s grip on Matt’s thighs was ironclad, his fingers digging into his flesh – sure to leave a pattern of bruises the next morning, Matt thought with delight. He hoped Frank felt the same about marks, because Matt’s nails were digging so hard into the other man’s shoulders that Matt was pretty sure he could smell blood. If the way his hips jerked when Matt sank his teeth into the meat of Frank’s shoulder was any indication, the Punisher didn’t mind a little pain mixed in with his pleasure.

Matt wanted vaguely to start ribbing Frank again about his made-for-adult-films nom de guerre, but couldn’t seem to find the breath to form words with, or the brain cells with which to order those words into sentences. It had been just too damn long since he’d been good and properly fucked, and hell if he wasn’t enjoying every moment of sweat and slick and catching breath and pliable flesh.

Before long, Frank’s thrusts started to grow erratic, and Matt could feel his own orgasm building. Matt moaned shamelessly as Frank bit down hard at the juncture of Matt’s neck and shoulder, but that stinging thrill was followed up by the distinctly unwelcome sensation of Frank moving away, pulling out. It took Matt a moment to realize what Frank must be doing, but when he figured it out, he dug his ankles into Frank’s back, keeping him held tightly to his body. He shot a firm look of annoyance up in Frank’s general direction, hoping to convey his displeasure at the mere implication that Frank would finish off elsewhere. Frank seemed to take the hint, hands sliding down to squeeze Matt’s thighs, his waist, his ass, as he slammed home again and again.

He buried his face in Matt’s neck as he came, a sound punching from him that Matt thought sounded suspiciously like “Red.”

Matt whined as he started to pull out and Frank halted, leaning down to capture Matt’s mouth in an unexpected but very welcome kiss. He leaned back minutely, parted lips hovering over Matt’s, each exhale like an open flame on Matt’s oversensitive skin, and then he wrapped a big, calloused hand around Matt’s dick and yeah, that was it. Matt came hard, collapsing into the sheets and letting the world slip away in a wave of warm pleasure.

The world outside started to bleed back into his perception sooner than he would have liked, so he pushed it away, enjoying just lying there, boneless and generally unconcerned with anything not lying within the confines of their bed.

Matt made a noise of protest when Frank’s warm bulk slipped suddenly away, his hand snapping out instinctively to grab at Frank’s wrist.

“Hey, calm down, Red,” Frank shook free of his grasp, “I’m not going anywhere.” His reassurance didn’t stop Matt from pouting for the minute it took Frank to dispose of the used condom in the trash and go into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. Matt was appeased by this, smiling contentedly as Frank cleaned him up and then tossed the cloth somewhere on the ground as he collapsed back into bed.

“Someone’s going to have to pick that up,” Matt pointed out, reproving.

“Mmhmm. But not me. I’ve done all the work tonight.”

“ _You_ -!” Matt tried to summon the energy to hit Frank over the head with a pillow, or at least give him a good verbal reproach, but failed. He settled for a muttered “you’re the worst,” and a half-hearted slap aimed at Frank’s bicep.

“That bad, huh?” Frank drawled. “Not up to par with your exacting standards?”  
  
“What, you want a rating?” Matt teased. “Five gold stars! Ten out of ten would fuck again!”

“Glad to hear that, because we could be stuck in this godforsaken room for a while yet, and I have got a _lot_ of excess energy to burn off.” Frank contradicted that statement by pausing to yawn before continuing, “Think you’re up for it, hotshot?”

“Well, not for at least a half an hour…”

This time it was Frank shoving at Matt’s shoulder as he grinned at his own joke.

“Fine. Wake me up when you wanna go again,” Frank muttered as he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

“Oh my god– I wasn’t being– you’re so… _crude_.”

“You like it.”

Matt didn’t deny this, but merely added, “Also: you’re taking a nap? It’s eight at night.”

“I’m an adult, Red. That means I sleep when I damn well want to.”

Matt wanted to throw some snide response back at him, but found that really, he was very comfortable, and the bed was nicely warmed with their shared body heat, and actually, a nap didn’t sound that bad…

~~~~~

A few hours later, Matt was lying awake, mulling over his life choices. Or rather, trying very hard _not_ to think about his life choices, and generally failing. In an effort to put off having to admit to himself things like “wow, I just got fucked by Frank Castle” and “I _liked_ getting fucked by Frank” and “When Foggy finds out I will literally never hear the end of it,” Matt tried to distract himself by combing through various nearby noises. With the sunset long past, the bustle of humanity had slowed to a more manageable roar of lonely taxicabs and inebriated partygoers and tired nightshift workers and, of course, the creaking mattresses and breathy moans of at least half a dozen couples in the hotel enjoying their stay to the fullest. And with that, his thoughts turned rather predictably back to Frank.

Matt’s fingers danced across the sheets towards Frank’s sleeping form, but hesitated just shy of touching him. He’d been serious about Matt waking him up for another round of – what? Boredom busting, cathartic energy release? A cheap and convenient fuck?

Matt was busy internally bemoaning the utter mess his life perpetually seemed to be, when something in the atmosphere of the room shifted.

He rolled onto his side, cocking his head to better read Frank. He was asleep, certainly, but not breathing the slow, deep breaths of a peaceful slumber, no – if Matt concentrated he could hear the tiny sounds of Frank’s eyes flicking wildly around under his closed lids, and he almost didn’t need to have super-hearing to sense the way Frank’s heartrate was ratcheting up. Nightmare, Matt concluded grimly, moments before Frank’s limbs shot out, fists and feet flailing wildly as he wrenched violently into alertness.

Matt knocked aside the wild punches, grabbing his arms and moving to hold Frank down with his own weight.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, “It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe.”

“What…” Frank shook his head, then shook it again more fiercely, as if his nightmare had sunk its claws in deep and refused to let him go. Matt rubbed gently at Frank’s wrists, waiting for the tension to uncoil from his limbs, still straining, ready for action.

Slowly, Frank’s heartrate fell back to its usual bass line, and Matt relinquished his hold, sliding back to lie next to Frank.

“Sorry,” Frank started to mutter gruffly, pausing to catch his breath. “I didn’t mean for that…I didn’t mean to hurt you,”

“I know,” Matt assured him. “And you didn’t. Even in your dreams, you can’t hurt me.”

“Oh, really?” Frank’s suddenly incredulous tone making Matt grin. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Cause I'm a badder badass than you,” Matt replied casually, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. “I could _literally_ take you with my eyes closed.”

“Smart ass…” Frank shoved Matt tiredly, before asking, with just a beat of hesitation, “Were you already awake?”

“Mmm.”

“More Taylor Swift?”

“Rihanna, actually,” Matt lied smoothly, “but I’ve got it under control.”

Frank grunted vaguely in acknowledgement.

Matt contemplated keeping his mouth shut, but finally decided that since “letting it go” had never been his forte, he might as well stay consistent.

“I was just thinking… Since neither of us appear to be sleeping, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Matt decided to interpret Frank’s ensuing silence as affirmative, and went ahead and asked, “Why are you here?”

There was another beat of quiet, before Matt heard the shifting of pillows as Frank turned to look at him. Or glare at him, possibly, it was hard to tell.

“I mean,” Matt explained quickly, “I know why you’re here. Technically. But why are you… _here_?” Matt let his hand drift over to Frank’s side of the bed, gliding lightly up Frank’s arm before pulling away, eliciting a slight shiver. “Why did you stay?”

Matt tried not to actually hold his breath as he waited for a response, telling himself that he didn’t really care, it was _fine_ , of course Frank wouldn’t actually –

“Because I wanted to.” The words were rough-edged, like Frank had had to tear them out. As he continued, Matt could tell he kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his body a rigid line, arms tucked against his sides as if afraid they’d stray and brush against Matt’s.

“At first, it was kind of just…what the hell. I was half-dead, and you were there, and you saved my damn life and listened to my bullshit….and you were my best chance at getting what I wanted,” Frank added, tone turning cold. “But then…” Frank sighed and went quiet, and Matt listened to the sound of his breathing and waited, reminded of that night in the graveyard, of the spaces between Frank’s words where it was like he was gathering his thoughts together, trying to lay them out in some semblance of order.

“I feel like I'm in some, some sort of limbo,” Frank began. “Cause…none of this feels quite real, you know? Like, there's this incredible blonde woman who runs around fixing things and making miracles and who can put both me _and_ you in our places. And, and a handy dandy nurse who'll make house calls to patch up bullet wounds without batting an eye, and some dorky lawyer who’s half my size but who’s ready to take me down if I hurt you, but who’s working to help me anyway, and then there's...then there’s you.”

It felt like there was a deeper meaning in those words that Matt couldn’t quite make out.

“I dunno,” Frank mumbled, his pointer finger starting to tap against his thigh, a tic that Matt had noticed tended to start up when Frank was struggling with the fact that he did, in fact, still have emotions.

“It’s just that these last few days, I’ve felt more like I was actually _living a life_ …” Frank faltered again and Matt wondered if this was how Frank had always been, his words usually locked away but when they escaped it was like a dam breaking in stop-motion. “A real fuck-up of a life but… I think that’s why…why I played along with this whole, this whole bullshit marriage scheme. Like, I just wanted to hold onto that…that _life_ …for as long as I could.”

Frank’s agitation grew, his hands clenching into fists as anger rose in his voice, “And, and I don’t know, sometimes the guilt hits me, like, how dare I do this? How dare I be alive when I’m supposed to be dead? When they’re –” Frank cut himself off with a sharp inhale, letting his breath out slowly before continuing, “I wasn't kidding when I said I was tired, Red. Sometimes I just want to _stop_ , but sometimes I feel like I _have_ to do it to live, but then when I’m killing I wonder if that counts as really being alive…”

Frank trailed off, whatever well of honesty he’d been tapping having run dry, and Matt felt like now was the time to say something, but what could he say? What could his words mean in the face of _that_?

“I wish…” Matt began slowly, running his words carefully through his mind before letting them leave his mouth, “I wish I could tell you that you don't need it, that you could be alive without... _it_ …but it would be massively hypocritical. I know that _I_ need it, the fight, the blood and the pain and the feeling of _doing_ something. I know _I’m_ not whole without it, so it’s not fair for me to expect any different from you… or for you to demand anything different from yourself.”

Frank didn’t show any obvious sign of response to that, but Matt could feel Frank’s pulse steadying, and he hoped he’d said what Frank had wanted – or needed – to hear.

Without thinking, he found himself saying, “Could I ask you something else?”

Frank heaved a sigh as he responded dryly, “If I said no, would it stop you?”

Matt considered for a moment. “Yes,” he decided.

The pillow rustled softly as Frank turned his head to stare at Matt again. His eyes flicked over Matt’s face, looking for something that Matt could only assume he found as he turned back to continue staring at the ceiling before answering shortly, “Ask.”

“That night on the roof…you asked me to shoot you.”

Matt paused, waiting for a reaction, but Frank remained impassive, so he continued. “I just wanted to know what….what you _hoped_ would happen.”

“I hoped you’d shoot Grotto,” Frank replied without missing a beat.

“Okay, but…did you think that actually would happen? Did you think I would shoot him, or you?”

There was another pause as Frank’s mouth opened but he didn’t answer, as if he was tasting the words before speaking them, “No. I didn’t think you would. Not your style.”

Now was the question Matt was dreading to ask, but had to. “Did you _want_ me to shoot _you_?”

The crackle of sheets was louder this time as Frank snapped his head to the side to glare at Matt.

“I wanted you to _understand_ , Red,” he hissed, and there was a depth of passion to his voice that sent shivers up Matt’s spine, electrified and afraid all at once.

“I don’t understand.” He didn’t.

“I know.” Frank’s words sounded resigned, and a little sad, and a little…relieved?

Almost unconsciously, Matt’s hand slid across the sheets to lay tentatively on Frank’s bicep. Frank froze under his touch.

“No, Red, don’t do that.” Frank took Matt’s hand in his own and moved it gently away, placing it firmly back on Matt’s side of the bed. “Just don’t. I can’t. I _can’t_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Silence stretched between them, tension rising to fill the space between their bodies, and Matt finally couldn’t stand it. “Just for the record,” he told Frank, “I’m glad I didn’t shoot you.”

Matt wondered at the next sound to come from Frank, a soft, barely-there laugh, more just a breath of mirth as he replied, “Well, there’s always tomorrow.”

~~~~~

Today, Matt decided as he felt the warmth of the morning sun creeping through the curtains, would be a better, brighter day. How to accomplish this task occurred to him when he wondered idly how Frank would react to being woken up with a blowjob. Although he couldn’t be entirely certain (because it was _Frank_ , and nothing was a sure thing with him), he thought it fair to assume that it would be positive.

He was right.

“Jesus Christ, Red,” Frank had groaned as he was dragged into awareness.

Matt pulled off long enough to reprimand him, “If you don’t stop taking the Lord’s name in vain, there _will_ be consequences,” before diving back down.

Frank tangled his hand in Matt’s hair, muttering something mutinous but otherwise shutting up.

It had been such a long time since Matt had done this that he was slightly concerned his skills would be rusty. But, considering how quickly Frank came after the time Matt got his mouth on him, Matt figured he couldn’t have done too badly. (That, or it had been just as long since Frank had been on the receiving end.)

Matt swallowed (because he didn’t do things halfway, dammit) and Frank sank back into the sheets, still breathing hard.

“Hell of a wake-up call, Red,” he huffed, sounding somewhere between aroused and amused, with a bit of disorientation in the mix.

“We offer a diverse range of services here at the Carlyle,” Matt deadpanned.

Frank snorted, and hesitated a moment before asking, “Y’want me to…”

“Maybe later,” Matt answered lightly, then sighed, letting his head fall to be pillowed on Frank’s thigh. Feeling an odd texture against his cheek, he let his hand slide down to run along what he realized was a long, ragged scar.

“What’s this, a knife wound?” he asked, curious.

“Machete.”

Matt raised his eyebrows at that, but Frank just shook his head. “Long story. Not sure you’d believe it anyway.”

Matt brought Frank’s hand down to feel the thick line of scar tissue on his side where Nobu’s blade had torn into him.  “ _Ninja_ ,” he stated meaningfully.

“Shit.” Frank paused a moment before taking Matt’s hand and placing it on a cobbled patch of skin on his calf. “IED.”

“Shit,” Matt echoed.

“Yeah. Hurts like hell, loud as _fuck,_ so you’d probably hate it.”

“Well, I don’t imagine I’d _love_ it.”

A knock at the door interrupted Frank’s surprised bark of laughter.

Frank pushed Matt in the general direction of the door as he heaved himself off the bed. “You get that, I’m gonna go hit the head.”

Matt let out an aggrieved sigh, but went without further complaint, pasting on his usual stranger-charming smile before he opened the door.

“Hello, room service…” the woman outside announced, trailing off as she looked up.

“Thank you.” Matt reached forward to take the trolley, but soft hands gently batted his aside.

“Oh, please, _allow me_.” The suggestive note in her voice was unmistakable as she pushed the trolley past Matt and into the room proper.

“Um…” Matt was suddenly very conscious that he was dressed only in his boxers. As he felt the woman’s eyes flick over him, he wished rather fervently that he’d thought to put on a shirt. Or pants, for that matter.

She smelled wonderful, like rose oil, with just a hint of baked sugar. Right up his alley, if he was being honest. And normally, the attentions of an attractive woman were neither unwelcome nor difficult for Matt to deal with, but given his current circumstances, he was feeling a bit off-balance.

“Thank you, that’s very, um…thank you,” he finished awkwardly.

“You’re _very_ welcome. Do you need… anything else?”

Well, just in case Matt hadn’t been sure he was interpreting the situation correctly before, that settled it. As the woman insinuated herself into Matt’s personal space, he wondered if he’d accidentally stepped onto a film set, because this was exactly how most of the pornos Matt had overheard Foggy watching in college started.

“I’m just fine, uh….”

“Cindy,” she purred.

“Cindy…” Matt trailed off, wondering how to tactfully explain that he was faking marriage to a wanted criminal, and had just started sleeping with said criminal, and as such, was unavailable.

"The man said he’s _fine_ ,” Frank’s voice boomed from behind Cindy, saving Matt from having to explain any such thing. “And I think you've smeared enough of your lipstick on my husband’s ass, lady."

"Frank!" Matt admonished, shocked. 

"I, I didn't know...." She stuttered, taking a healthy step back from Frank’s imposing bulk.

"Really? You didn't guess the guy in the _honeymoon suite_ might be taken? I guess what they say about blondes is true...”

Matt tried not to gape as, without further ado, Cindy turned tail and dashed out with nary another word.

“ _What_ ,” Matt rounded on Frank, “was _that_?”

“What was what?” Frank shot back.

“You fucking know what. What did you— _Why_ did you—” Matt struggled to even formulate what he was feeling, what he was trying to ask. “Do you think because we slept together that now you, what, you _own_ me?”

“I’m sorry, did you _want_ to bang _Cindy_?” Frank sneered. “If you did, I could always go out and get myself arrested, and then you can bring her back here and have a great time…”

“That’s not– Frank, you know we’re not _really_ married, right?”

“Well, actually, I think we are.”

“Oh for Christ’s –”

“ _Language_ , Red.”

Matt sucked in a huge breath to keep from shouting his next response. “Could we just…could we just get through _breakfast_ without trying to kill each other?”

“Fine by me.”

The two dragged chairs over and sat down on opposite sides of the breakfast trolley.

For almost ten minutes, they ate in cold silence, with no words exchanged as the tension in the room became a near physical presence. Finally, Frank’s passive-aggressive thieving of bits of Matt’s bacon got to be just too much, and Matt snapped. He shoved the trolley aside, knocking the silverware out of Frank’s hands, grabbing his face and crushing their mouths together. Not the most elegant solution, nor perhaps the most emotionally healthy, but it proved effective as Frank leaned into the sloppy kiss, hands digging into the meat of Matt’s thighs as he tightened his hold and lifted him up before dropping both of their bodies to the ground.

They were still partly-wrestling, partly-embracing on the carpet when a rather unwelcome sound intruded on their activities: “Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.”

“Damn it,” Matt swore under his breath as he dragged himself upright, fumbling for his phone, which was buzzing on the nightstand.

“Hello?” he panted, just managing to hit “talk” before it went to voicemail.

“Uh, hi, Matt.”

“What’s up, Foggy?” Matt asked, trying to sound a little less like he was out of breath and clutching the edge of the bed for support.

“Well, I…did I catch you at a bad time? You sound kind of… _odd_.” Foggy’s tone was decidedly suspicious, and Matt wondered if Foggy had learned to differentiate between his “I was just having sex” kind of out of breath and his “I was just out fighting crime” kind. Then he wondered which one Foggy would consider less damning.

“Nope, no, it’s fi-IIINE,” Matt yelped in a highly embarrassing manner when he received a sharp and unexpected slap to his ass. He tried to aim a kick back at Frank, but Frank wrapped his arms around Matt’s legs and sent him tumbling to the carpet with a reverberating thump.

“Get _off_ of me, you lunatic,” he hissed, struggling to try and cover the receiver while still fending off Frank’s roving hands.

“Is he…are you _fighting_ right now?” Foggy asked the question in a way that made it clear that “yes” was an unacceptable answer.

“No! No, it’s fine–”

“Then what…”

Matt winced as he heard realization strike on Foggy’s side of the call.

“Oh my _god_.”

“Um….”

“Are you having _sex_?” Foggy sounded thoroughly horrified at the prospect, which Matt thought was a little rich considering how many times they’d walked in on each other with people in their beds during college.

“If I say no, will you just say what you called to tell me?” Matt pleaded.

There was a loud clunk and then footsteps moving away, before a softer clatter and then the sound of Karen’s voice on the line asking, “What’s with Foggy?”

“Nothing,” Matt assured her hurriedly, still busy battling with Frank, who seemed to be getting altogether too much amusement from his current antics.

In the background of the call, Matt heard Foggy say something and Karen huffed a laugh.

“Um, what sort of ‘nothing’ is making Foggy, uh, I quote, ‘look for something sharp to poke his mind’s eye out with’?”

“It’s not relevant, I promise, just – do you have news about Frank’s immunity deal?”

At that, Frank immediately stopped pawing at Matt’s waistband, his demeanor changing drastically, going cold and distant in a mere second. His personality shifts must be record-setting, Matt thought with no small amount of bitterness, wishing briefly that they could go back to tussling and bickering – that version of Frank may be a pain in the ass, but at least he knew how to smile.

“Yes!” Karen answered, sounding excited, but with a clear note of apprehension. “It’s ironclad, Foggy promises. He looked over the paperwork himself.”

“But…” Matt prompted, sitting back against the bed and clicking the phone over to speaker as he set it on the ground between him and Frank.

“But…the thing is, Frank’s immunity is only a done deal – _if_ he comes to the DA’s office, and testifies to the attorney general what he saw in the park. Today.”

“The DA’s office? _Today_?” Matt dragged a hand through his hair with a grimace. “There’s not enough time to plan– and what about meeting on more neutral territory? This is ridiculous.”

“I know,” Karen sighed, “but it’s the best we could do. The problem is that our contact is actually Blake Tower.”

“He’s the ADA,” Foggy piped up, apparently having recovered from his earlier shock and returned to the call, “and he thinks his boss is ridiculously shady –”

“—and he has political aspirations of his own –” Karen added.

“—which makes him more than willing to help us get rid of her. But, only if we get it done fast, neat, and on _his_ home turf.”

“Tower wants a rock-solid case against Reyes and her people. He wants to bring her down, he’s going to build his _career_ on this, you can trust that he’ll come through. But, you have to show up first.”

“Which means making it across town and into City Hall, the heart of Reyes’ territory, without Frank getting arrested,” Matt concluded.

“While every cop in New York is out gunning for my blood,” Frank finished, moving to lean against the bed next to Matt.

“But other than that, it should be a piece of cake!” Foggy proclaimed cheerily.

Matt groaned quietly, rubbing his temple as if that could erase either his growing headache, or the disaster looming before him. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay,” he continued with higher volume (in lieu of confidence), “What time’s the meet?”

“Three o’clock. And don’t be late,” Foggy cautioned, “Attorney generals don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Spent a lot of time meeting with attorney generals, eh, Fog?” Matt joked weakly.

“Nope. I’m an attorney-general-meeting-virgin.”

“Uh…”

“You know who’s _not_ a virgin?”

“Um–”

“ _You_ , Matt! And hey, I have generally applauded your past slutty behavior, hell, I was _jealous_. But _Frank Castle_?”

Matt buried his face in his hands as the sound of Karen absolutely hooting with laughter burst through the speakers, even as Foggy continued his tirade.

“What the _fuck_ , Matt? I mean, I know you married the guy but – wait. That’s not why, is it? You’re not doing this because he’s…forcing you, is he? Because if he is –”

“Oh, god no, Foggy, it’s not like that at all,” Matt assured him quickly, “Definitely not. It’s all totally consensual, over here. Completely.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Foggy sounded greatly relieved. “Because as a lawyer, I cringed at the thought that I was gonna have to kill the guy.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you didn’t have to, too.”

“ _But_ , that means I can go right back to asking: _what the fuck_?”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Matt?” Frank mimicked from beside Matt, sounding amused once again.

Matt elbowed Frank in the ribs as he grabbed the phone and turned the speaker off. “Listen, buddy, can we maybe talk about this when we’re not, you know, knee deep in cops and crazy?”

“When are you _not_ knee deep in cops and crazy?”

“Hey, come on,” Matt protested. “Here’s an idea: why don't you go bother Karen about _her_ sex life?”

“Hey!” Karen objected, but Foggy quickly responded, “Because Karen is seeing _Claire_ , a nurse who is lovely and has dedicated her life to patching up bullet wounds, not _inflicting_ them.”

"…Fair."

“Listen. Matty. I could write a soliloquy on the issues I have with you and Frank. Hell, I could write a two-act _play_ complete with intermission about the legions of problems brought up by your relationship. And, I think you might be giving me an actual ulcer, to boot. But…” Foggy exhaled rather theatrically before continuing, resigned, “I’ll wait until after you get your spouse’s head off of the government’s chopping block before I start penning that script, okay?”

“Okay, Shakespeare,” Matt laughed, relieved. “Thank you. We’ll see you at City Hall at three.”

“You’d better,” Foggy shot back.

“Good luck!” Karen chirped.

“Thanks,” Matt replied, trying to sound confident despite his lack of any such feeling, before hanging up. “We’re gonna need it,” he sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m actually pretty good at not getting caught,” Frank pointed out. “And so are you, apparently, since you’re not rotting in jail, either.”

“Yeah. So, between the two of us, it’s just a long shot that we’ll make it to City Hall, not a complete Hail Mary.”

“Mmm, there’s that hope you were preaching to me about.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Frank leaned in to capture Matt’s mouth, and Matt was already reciprocating when he realized, “No!” He leapt to his feet and out of Frank’s reach. “Not _now_. We have things to do.”

“What _things_? It’s not gonna take….” Frank craned his neck to glance at the clock on the nightstand, “Five hours to figure out that we just need to get on the Green Line at 77 th and that’ll take us to the damn front steps of City Hall.”

“The subway? Isn’t that a little…obvious?”

“What? D’you wanna make a splash, you wanna hang glide in?”

“Of course not–”

“What do you think I’ve been doing, taking taxis everywhere? I’ve got money but not _that_ kind of money.”

“Well…” Matt tried not to look too guilty as he thought about the heinous taxi bill he ran up on a weekly basis.

“Subway. It’ll let us blend in with the crowds and avoid any roadblocks the cops might’ve set up, and besides, I doubt anyone’ll be expecting us to show up using public transportation. We’ll leave at 2:00, that’ll give us enough time to get there, scout the perimeter, and find a way into the building. So…” Frank stood and swayed closer to Matt.

“Well….I still need to shower,” Matt pointed out weakly.

“A four hour shower? Jeez, how prissy are you?”

Matt didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response, he just spun away from Frank, grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and marched into the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind him.

Once he’d stepped under the hot spray, he finally let himself relax, slumping against the cool tile. The soreness he felt was rather pleasant, which was a nice change of pace, but it still felt good to let the warm water beat away some of the tension in his muscles.

He didn’t know how long he’d just been standing there, emptying his mind and letting the water wash away his worries, when the bathroom door banged open and he found Frank flinging open the shower curtain and barging in.

“What’re you–?” he sputtered as Frank wedged himself into the (fairly generously sized, but still) shower beside Matt.

“You were taking too long,” Frank grumbled, by way of explanation. 

“Do you not care about privacy?”

“No,” Frank answered shortly. “Besides,” he added, sidling up to press his chest to Matt’s, leaning in close so Matt could feel his smirk brush against his cheek. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

“Frank, has anyone ever told you…” Matt tilted his head to brush his mouth teasingly against Frank’s, “...that you’re the most _vexing_ person on the planet?”

“I’ve been called crazy, scary, bloodthirsty, and occasionally sociopathic – does any of that count?”

Matt suppressed a frustrated sigh, and tried to neither bang his head against the wall or give in to the urge to start biting at Frank’s collarbone, even though it was _right there_ , and he’d bet Frank would feel incredible against him with all this water sluicing between them… no. No, he was _mad_ at Frank right now, he would not give into hedonism when he had a point to prove. Though what that point might be seemed to be slipping away from Matt as the heady scent of Frank’s body filled up the steamy space…

“Jesus, Red, you always have the water this scalding?” Frank complained. “Is it some penance thing?”

“I _like_ it hot,” Matt countered, slapping Frank’s fingers away when he tried to turn the handle down.

“I’ll bet you do,” Frank leered, hands reaching out to try and grab hold of Matt’s waist.

Matt put up a token struggle, but couldn’t quite keep a grin off his face when Frank managed to insinuate a thigh between Matt’s legs.

“We’re not in a hurry,” he rumbled against Matt’s ear, “Which means, we’ve got some time to kill. And, I do believe I owe you something…”

At that, Frank slid slowly to his knees, mouth dragging in a long, hot line down Matt’s neck, over his chest, along his abdomen…

Oh. _Oh_. Okay. Perhaps, Matt reasoned as he let his hands slide into Frank’s short-cropped hair, this whole sharing-a-shower thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

~~~~~

They managed to pass the remaining hours with a combination of sex, food, and more sex, with cards out of the question as they’d both decided they had played more than a lifetime’s worth in the last few days.

As their departure loomed closer, the two gravitated to their usual pre-action, calming activities. Frank was sitting at the coffee table, disassembling and reassembling the handgun he’d stopped pretending he didn’t have, while Matt sat cross-legged in front of the window under the pretense of mediating, though in all honesty, he was mostly just contemplating everything that could go wrong that afternoon, from getting caught the second they stepped outside the hotel, to the deal with the attorney general all being an elaborate ploy to lure Frank out of hiding.

There was a sharp ping, and Matt ducked instinctively, not quite avoiding the tiny metal projectile that bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and onto the floor. 

He dug the thing out of the plush carpet, running his fingers along its flat sides before asking: "Is this a penny?"

"For your thoughts," Frank replied casually. 

"Oh my _god_ ,” Matt groaned, “I cannot _believe_ I'm married to you."

Frank snorted, and made a vague, aborted hand motion that Matt didn’t quite catch. He tilted his head inquisitively in Frank’s direction.

“I was about to flip you off, Murdock,” Frank explained, “then I realized it wouldn't really work. You really are sucking all the fun out of my life.”

“Well, if what I've learned about marriage from our popular culture is correct, then that means I'm performing my spousal duties correctly.”

“Speaking of spousal duties, if you want to suck something…”

Matt stopped twiddling the penny between his fingers and tossed it expertly to smack Frank directly between the eyes.

Frank jerked back in surprise, and Matt had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been about to seek some sort of retribution for the unexpected assault, but was stayed by the ding of Matt’s phone alarm.

It was 2:00. Time to go.

Frank snapped the last pieces of his gun together and jammed it in the back of his waistband, tossing on a sweatshirt and pulling the hood up to throw his features into shadow. Matt straightened his tie and flicked his cane out to its full length. As he set his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he realized with a little jolt that he hadn’t worn them for days – he spared a moment to consider the significance of that, of how he’d been with Frank all that time and hadn’t felt the need to hide behind those lenses.

Matt was pulled him from his thoughts by the click of Frank sliding back the deadbolt on the door, before holding his elbow out to Matt. “Shall we?”

Matt took the proffered elbow with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of their room and went to the stairs, taking them down to the ground floor, where they swung around a corner into a deserted hallway that Matt’s nose said led to the alleyway running behind the hotel.

Just as they reached the doors leading outside, Matt picked up the sound of footsteps and clinking keys, and threw an arm out to stop Frank from barging through.

“Security,” he hissed, keeping a hand pressed to Frank’s chest while they waited for the guard to pass. After a minute, Matt nodded that it was safe and they stepped out.

“That’s some freaky shit you can do, you know that?” Frank noted casually.

“Yes, Frank, I’m well acquainted with the freakiness of my shit.”

Frank snorted. “You remember, I said once that sometimes I thought you really might be the Devil?”

“Yeah.” Matt cocked his head, listening to make sure that their path out of the alley and onto the busy sidewalk was clear. “Did you revise your opinion?”

“Hell, no. I’ve confirmed it. You ply me with cards, then seduce me into bed – no, you're definitely the Devil. And as a lapsed Catholic, I’m not sure how comfortable I am literally getting into bed with Satan.”

“Yeah, well, a man who’s ready, willing, and able to commit murder at the drop of a hat wasn’t exactly who I had in mind for my spouse,” Matt retorted as he took Frank’s arm and pulled him neatly into step with the flow of people passing by the mouth of the alley.

“But…” he added in an undertone, “It has, to my unending amazement, actually turned out…pretty okay.”

Frank made a non-committal sort of sound at that. “Well, don’t worry Red, once this shitstorm has passed, we’ll get an annulment and you’ll be a free agent again.”

“Yeah.” Matt tried to feel happy at that – he should be damn _ecstatic_ at the prospect of being legally and socially freed from his ties to a murderer of highly questionable sanity – but, some not-so-small, probably equally questionably-sane part of him felt hollow at the thought.

As they waited for the light to change so they could cross the street, Matt blurted out a question he probably should have asked _before_ they embarked on this foolhardy mission: “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Frank answered coolly, “Not anymore.”

“Me neither, really. Certainly not _you_. But…I do have faith.”

“That’s nice. I don’t.”

“Maybe I have enough for the both of us.”

Frank seemed to consider that before replying, “I guess we’ll find out.”

It was a very tense three blocks to the subway stop. Matt made sure to keep his grip on Frank’s arm loose, but the hand gripping his cane was white-knuckled. Frank had both an inward and an outward appearance of calm, his gait casual and his heartrate steady. Matt couldn’t tell if it was because he was a sociopathically good liar, or because he was actually unbalanced enough not to be concerned. Matt wasn’t sure which option he’d prefer to be true, either.

They managed to reach the station without incident. They were waiting for the train to arrive when Matt heard something that made him tighten his hold on Frank’s elbow.

“Your nine o’clock,” he murmured, and Frank flicked a glance to his left.

“Mmm. Cop. Looks a little curious.”

“I’m pretty sure his heartrate jumped when he saw your face. He might have recognized you.”

“Or maybe he’s just got a thing for handsome guys with broken noses and black eyes.”

“Maybe. But just in case…”

In one swift movement, Matt swooped his cane under the feet of a passing businessman who was, unfortunately for him, carrying a very hot cup of coffee, which as he tripped went spattering onto him and a nearby woman, who began to shriek, which made the man standing next to her jump and drop the bag of groceries he’d been carrying, the contents of which rolled away to become a dangerous minefield of fruits and veggies which no less than three people tripped over in a spectacular display of flailing limbs and flying purses, all to the great delight of a trio of nearby kids who decided to join the fun by grabbing up the squashed tomatoes and bananas and flinging them at each other and passersby. 

In the ensuing chaos, Matt and Frank slipped onto the train without further notice from the suddenly-overwhelmed police officer.

“Nicely done,” Frank muttered, breath hot against Matt’s ear as they shuffled towards the back of the car.

“I have my moments,” Matt admitted with a sly grin as they folded themselves into a pair of empty seats.

As each stop passed them by without incident, Matt couldn’t decide whether to feel more or less worried. 68th Street, 59th Street, 51st Street – had that cop _not_ spotted them? Surely he would have called it in if they’d been recognized. Grand Central, 33 rd Street, 28th Street, 23rd Street – maybe he did call it in, and the police were just waiting for them to get off the train. Union Square, Astor Place, Broadway-Lafayette Street – no, if they knew he and Frank were on the train they’d have taken action, gotten everyone off the train and away from a suspected mass murderer and his accomplice…right? Spring Street, Canal Street… Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall.

When they managed to disembark, move through the station, _and_ go out onto the street without hitting any sort of security or blockade, Matt decided with great unease that this was _definitely_ too easy.

They figured out why when they reached City Hall.

“Every single damn cop in Manhattan must be here,” Frank breathed, sounding more proud than alarmed.

“And then some. I guess for a rock star like you, they could call in some favors,” Matt noted dryly.

Frank ignored Matt’s jibe. “You know, a lot of our non-existent plan was riding on the hope that Reyes wouldn’t know we were coming here.”

“Well. I suppose when the attorney general showed up, it kinda gave the game away. Or maybe Karen and Foggy’s contact in the DA’s office has loose lips. It doesn’t really matter now…We knew this was going to be hard, but—” Matt cut himself off as he yanked Frank abruptly behind a scrawny tree as the crackle of a police radio floated around a corner, accompanied by the clomp of boots.

Frank glanced around, muttering, “Hate to break it to you, Red, but this _twig_ isn’t exactly providing much cover. So…”

“So?”

“So.” Frank took Matt’s face in his hands and, without any further warning, kissed him thoroughly, tongue delving into Matt’s mouth in way that was entirely unwarranted (though, admittedly, not unwanted) given what Matt assumed were the camouflage-related purposes of their current embrace.

As the stomp of official boots faded away, Frank released Matt abruptly, who just barely reined in the urge to lean right back in.

“You know,” Matt murmured, trying to hide the fact that he was breathing a little hard, “Although movies certainly like to portray PDA as a useful shield against unwanted public attention, I’m not sure there’s any _actual_ evidence to prove that that’s the case.”

“Yeah, but it sure is fun,” Frank shot back archly.

Matt heaved a put-upon sigh, but couldn’t quite muster up a frown, not when a grin was tugging so insistently at the corner of his mouth. The brief chirrup of a police siren as another car joined the fray surrounding City Hall reminded him quite firmly of their current situation.

“Okay,” Matt tilted his head, and let the cacophony around them fade away till he was focused on the voices echoing around the Hall’s perimeter. “They’re stopping and searching anyone who wants to go near that building. I can hear them hassling a state senator at the front, and a couple of janitors at the back. _No one’s_ getting in there. They have _every_ entrance guarded…” Matt trailed off as a wonderful, terrible idea occurred to him. “Every _ground_ _level_ entrance…” he amended, meaningfully.

Frank squinted at him, finally exhibiting the first signs of apprehension at their whole endeavor as he replied, “You know I was _joking_ before about hang gliding in, right?”

“What I have in mind isn’t exactly hang gliding…”

“Then what the hell _do_ you have in mind?”

Matt told him.

“No fucking way.”

“Frank –”

“No. _Fucking_. Way.”

“Listen, the guy who made this,” Matt patted something long and cylindrical tucked inside his suit jacket, “he’s really good at what he does. He says it’ll work, I believe him.”

“Oh, so you haven’t even _done_ this before?”

“No, I _haven’t_ , I only just got it before I went and got hitched to _you_ , so you’ll forgive me if I was a little busy saving your ass to go swinging from the rooftops for the hell of it –”

“Right, let me get this straight. You want to use some bullshit grappling line to swing from the roof of some nearby building onto the roof of City Hall. In the middle of the day. While the whole damn block is crawling with cops.”

“Unless you have a better plan?”

“This isn’t a plan, this is us doing those cops’ job for them, and if I’m gonna get killed, I’d prefer a bullet to the brain rather than getting scraped off the cement.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Christ. And people think I’m crazy.”

“You _are_ crazy. So, this plan should be right up your alley.”

“You’re not really selling it here, Red.”

“This will _work_ ,” Matt insisted with far more certainty than he felt. “Just trust…” his words petered out as he realized that they’d already established that Frank did not, in fact, trust him. “…Just have a little faith,” he finished instead.

“You know, ‘faith’ hasn’t worked for me in a long time.”

Matt nodded.

“And I told you before, I don’t trust you.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Thing is,” Frank cut him off, “I was lying about that. I kind of _do_ trust you.”

Matt wondered if he looked as dumbfounded as he felt.

“Which is _idiotic_ ,” Frank continued fiercely, “And not something I chose, but it _is_ the truth.”

“You know…” Matt listened carefully, but shook his head. “I can’t always quite tell when you’re lying.”

“Well, I guess you’re gonna have to trust me too, then. Or have a little faith.”

Matt smiled, small but genuine. “I think I can manage that.”

“Okay then…” Frank tilted his head up to inspect the roof of their target. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They marched over to an adjacent office building with people streaming in and out of it, easily blending into the crowds, and took the elevator as high as it went, before moving to the stairs and going up till they reached a door marked “Roof Access.” Unfortunately, the door also had a sign on it informing them that “Alarms will sound when door is opened.”

Frank took this in stride, kneeling before the mechanism and producing some sort of small metal tool that jangled when he removed it from a heretofore unknown pocket in his hoodie.

“What’re you doing?” Matt reached out to run his fingers over the lock and Frank batted his hands away.

“Trade secret,” he muttered, a few seconds before the door popped open with, thankfully, not a single blare of the alarm.

“You really are a man of many talents.”

“Maybe…” Frank sounded even more doubtful than before as they stepped out onto the roof to be met with a wild gusting wind, “but trapeze isn’t one of them.”

“Luckily for you,” Matt pulled out his shiny new prototype grappler and flicked the mechanism open, “I’ve got that covered.”

Frank eyed the grappler with distaste as he grumbled, “You’d better know what you’re doing,” letting Matt wrap an arm around his waist and pull them tight together.

Matt threw one end of the grappler across the gap between their building and City Hall, listening carefully to it whistle through the air before landing with a clunk on the highest part of  the opposite roof, the claws flicking out and latching firmly onto the corrugated metal.

“To tell you the truth,” Matt admitted, angling his head towards Frank with a mischievous grin, “I never really know what I’m doing. But it’s always worked out for me so far.”

And with that, they took a flying leap off the roof.

They swung through the air, arcing across the street below, the bubbling noise of the city swept away by their acceleration. As the unforgiving metal and concrete and rock of the roof rose up to meet them, a gust of wind at their back buoyed their hurtling bodies to safety, helping them land with astonishing neatness and without the painful crash Matt had expected (but neglected to mention to Frank.)

“That was _damn_ lucky,” Frank gasped, knees sinking mutinously towards the ground for a moment before he grabbed hold of a nearby pipe and steadied himself. Matt respectfully turned away from the uncharacteristic display of weakness, while quietly filing away the note “Punisher does not like flying on flimsy grappling lines” for possible future reference to their respective vigilante careers.

“Yeah, either that or we’ve got a weather god on our side.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure Thor doesn’t owe _me_ any favors,” Frank grumbled.

“If a god of thunder owed me one, you think I’d waste it saving your ass?” Matt smirked as he pulled his phone from his pocket, and hit the first number on speed dial.

Frank’s answering scoff was drowned out by Foggy’s shout of “Matt?” through the line, sounding just short of panicked. “There are like a bajillion cops here but no you and no Frank – and the meeting starts in three minutes!”

“Foggy, we’re here, on the roof – what room are we going to?” Matt asked as Frank went to the roof access door and jimmied it open.

“Uh, 202, second floor, third door on the left from the elevators – wait, you’re on the _roof_? How did you get –”

“I’ll explain later. We’ll be there in a minute.” Matt ended the call and slid the phone back in his pocket.

Frank swung the door open and gave a mocking little bow towards Matt. “After you.”

Matt punched Frank’s shoulder for good measure, but grinned nonetheless.

They made their way down a flight of stairs to the second floor, avoiding a few random patrols of police with relative ease – they weren’t particularly alert, likely not expecting a mouse, much less a man, to be able to get past the veritable army outside.

“Sorry, Melvin,” Matt apologized under his breath as he wiped the fingerprints off the grappler before slipping it into a nearby trash can, retrieving his cane from the inside of his jacket. Better not to have that little unexplainable gadget on his person if (or _when_ ) things went sideways.

Matt’s pulse slowed a little as he heard two familiar heartbeats coming towards them from around a corner.

“ _There_ you guys are!” Karen called, sounding enormously relieved as they came into sight.

“Thank God,” Foggy echoed from a few steps behind her.

“Hey,” Matt greeted them, accepting Karen’s hug. For a moment, Matt thought she was going to try and hug Frank too, but she apparently thought better of it, just sort of patting his arm gingerly as she said, “Glad you both made it.”

Frank grunted something vaguely positive in response, and Matt took the opportunity to take both of their elbows and begin guiding them in the direction of the meeting room.

“So, how’s Claire?” Matt inquired conversationally, as if they weren’t escorting a wanted fugitive through the corridors of city hall, on their way to depose one of New York’s highest ranking officials and reveal a huge government conspiracy.

“She’s _excellent_ ,” Karen informed him with great enthusiasm.

Foggy groaned and threw a hand over his face. “No, don’t let her start _again_ , I’ve been having to deal with their kissy-face crap on my own this _whole time_ …”

“Yes, I’m sure it was quite a burden for you to bear,” Matt noted acerbically, as they slowed to a halt outside a room being guarded by a very large man armed with a very large gun.

“Hello there, Marshal,” Foggy greeted the guard cordially. “Here he is,” Foggy gestured grandly at Frank, “The man of the hour.”

The Marshal stepped forward and patted Frank down for weapons, unearthing the .380 and two knives (one of which Matt hadn’t even known was there) on his first sweep, which prompted him to go back for another, more thorough search.

“Watch it there,” Frank warned him as the guard searched up and down his thighs, “I’m a married man, you know.”

Matt couldn’t be positive, but he was pretty sure the Marshal rolled his eyes as he stepped back and pulled a keycard from his belt.

“All right,” he unlocked the door and pushed it open, “Go on in.”

Frank hesitated for the barest of moments before turning back to Matt, grabbing him by the lapels, and pressing a hot, wet kiss to his mouth. Then he stepped back, did a neat about face, and marched into the room, swinging the door shut behind him and leaving the trio of Nelson, Murdock, and Page in varying degrees of shock.

Karen recovered first, leaning towards Foggy and stage-whispering, “Okay, you have to admit, Claire and I aren’t _that_ bad.”

Foggy just shook his head, dazed, while Matt continued to blink vaguely at the door, only turning away when he realized the guard was shaking with barely repressed laughter.

“So, now…” Matt sighed, running a hand over his face and going to sink down on the wooden bench a few feet down from the door, “We wait.”

“Yup,” Foggy flopped down next to him, “And hope that your spouse manages to stay out of prison.”

“Though, if that happened, at least you’d get conjugal visits,” Karen added as she took the seat on Matt’s other side. At that, Foggy dropped his head into his hands with a moan of despair as Matt bit down a grin.

As it turned out, they didn’t get to wait for very long.

“Matthew Murdock!” the voice of District Attorney Samantha Reyes blasted down the hall, accompanied by the clack of her heels and the stomp of two sets of heavy boots, along with the softer thump of two pairs of wingtips.

“Hi, Brett!” Foggy greeted the detective cheerily as he, Reyes, a man in a suit whom Matt didn’t recognize, and two SWAT officers closed in on them.

“Uh, hi, Foggy. Matt. Karen,” Brett replied wearily, nodding perfunctorily as each of them stood.

“What brings you here?” Matt inquired pleasantly, the picture of innocent curiosity.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Brett warned him, chagrined. 

“I could ask you the same,” Reyes addressed Matt, tone dripping with venom. “Escorting your fugitive husband directly into my custody? Maybe I’ll cut you a break for that.”

Matt tilted his head, eyebrows drawing together. “I think you must be mistaken.”

“I think not. You may have thought your sham of a marriage could slip under the radar, but as of a few days ago, Frank Castle is New York City’s most wanted man, and I’ve got eyes all over this town— I don’t know what the hell your plan was, but it’s over now.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Matt agreed generously.

Reyes turned her glare to the man guarding the door. “Who are you? And who’s in there? Let me in that room immediately.”

Reyes moved to grab the handle, but the Marshal blocked her path, one hand raised and one hand moving to rest meaningfully on his gun holster. “I’m a US Marshal, ma’am, and I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in there. Order of the attorney general.”

Reyes made a flabbergasted little noise, and Foggy choked down a laugh, whispering under his breath so only Matt could hear, “my _God_ , I wish you could see her _face_!”

“ _What_ is the attorney general doing here?” Reyes demanded to know.

“I asked him to come here, ma’am,” piped up the be-suited man standing behind Reyes.

She spun round to face him. “ _Tower_?”

“Yes.” Blake Tower stepped forward calmly, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m sorry, but when it was clear you were going to continue covering up your criminal actions, I had to take drastic measures.”

“You–”

Whatever Reyes was about to say was cut off by the shouts of a pair of cops who came clattering out of the elevators.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! Security outside said they saw…”

The two trailed off in sync, trading nervous glances. Reyes barely waited a moment before shouting, “Saw _what_? Spit it out!”

“They thought they saw someone or someones unknown sort of, uh, swing? Onto the roof?” The speaking cop looked slightly pained at the tentative admission, while the other one winced in sympathy.

“ _Swing_?” Reyes hissed, voice dangerously low.

“Or fly. They were pretty sure there was some sort of…device involved, though.”

“I think there might be _actual_ steam coming out of her ears,” Foggy murmured to Matt, sounding a little awed.

Reyes visibly reined in her anger for a moment before turning slowly, coldly, to Matt and stating clearly, “You are under arrest.”

“Really?” Matt asked mildly. “What for?”

“For aiding and abetting a wanted murderer and fugitive from justice, as if you weren’t aware. I really have no idea what you were hoping to gain by _marrying_ the freak, except maybe sharing a cell with him in prison for a while before he’s _executed_.” Reyes gestured and one of the two SWAT members ripped the cane from Matt’s hands and began to twist his arms behind his back, reaching for the handcuffs clinking on his belt.

“Hey, now, back off,” Brett’s voice boomed and there was a rustle as he grabbed the SWAT guy’s wrist, pulling him away from Matt, “Can’t you see he’s _blind_?”

“This man is under arrest, Detective,” Reyes cut in, “and if your career means anything to you, you won’t interfere any further.”

Even as Brett and the officer continued to tussle over the cuffs, Matt heard the soft scratch of paper being signed in the office behind him, and didn’t bother to hide his triumphant grin. Foggy noticed his expression, and broke into a matching smile.

“ _This_ Matthew Murdock? Under arrest for _what_?” Foggy queried cheerfully. He turned to Matt with mock distress in his tone, “Were you _jaywalking_ again, Matt? Think of your husband! What would he do if you went to prison?”

“Yeah, dumpling, whatever would I do?” The group gathered outside of the room whirled as one towards Frank’s sardonic tone.

He stood, stone-faced and straight-backed in the now-open doorway, next to a smaller man who smelled of ink and old books.

“Who’s under arrest, now?” the attorney general inquired as he stepped out of Frank’s shadow and into the hallway.

“Sir!” Reyes sounded seriously rattled as she addressed her superior. “This man is under arrest for his association with the wanted fugitive from the law, Frank Castle –”

“Frank Castle is not a wanted fugitive any longer,” the attorney general corrected her. “This man has been given full immunity from any and all charges you or your office have or were planning on bringing against him. However, _you_ , Ms. Reyes,” he raised an accusatory finger in her direction, and her small posse began to subtly slip away from her side, “are under arrest for malfeasance, tampering with official documents, and several counts of conspiracy, with the possibility of further charges of criminal negligence and manslaughter. Detective,” the attorney general gestured to Brett, “If you would place the _former_ District Attorney under arrest and read her her rights...”

“Yes sir,” Brett complied with distinct pleasure, taking Reyes by the shoulder and leading her away from the group and through the gaggle of people who’d slowly been gathering around them, drawn in by the commotion.

“Wow,” Foggy breathed, watching Reyes go with obvious joy, “That _actually_ worked. I don’t believe it. Pinch me,” he told Karen, who giggled and kissed his cheek lightly instead.

“We did it!” she cheered, reaching out to give Matt’s arm a squeeze, and this time, not stopping herself from sweeping Frank into a hug. Frank froze under her embrace, looking vaguely alarmed. When she didn’t release her hold after a minute, he patted her back awkwardly and sighed in relief when she finally took a step back.

The attorney general watched the scene with gentle amusement before stepping closer.

“I owe thanks to all of you,” he began, “for helping root out this corruption that was rotting away at the heart of our city. If you run into trouble in the future…” he pulled a business card from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Foggy, “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

Foggy took the card and nodded solemnly, managing to keep a straight face until the Attorney General and his Marshal disappeared into the elevator, whereupon he pumped a fist in the air and let out a whoop. “ _Yes_! We got rid of the DA who hates us, and managed to gain _the_ a _ttorney general himself_ as an ally!”

“ _And_ kept Frank out of prison!” Karen enthused, holding up a hand for a high five, which Foggy immediately returned with glee.

“We should all go and get very drunk,” Foggy announced. Karen nodded in vigorous agreement, but Matt could sense Frank already starting to lean away, disengaging himself from their little group…

Before he could make his escape, however, Matt shot a hand out and grabbed his elbow, reeling him back in. “You two should go and do that,” he told Karen and Foggy, “Frank and I actually have other plans.” They didn’t really, Matt had just made them up on the spot as he’d had a dizzy sort of realization that if Frank left now, he’d take a part of Matt with him, and Matt wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

“You do?” Karen and Foggy asked in surprised unison.

“We do?” Frank echoed, sounding dubious.

“Yes, we do. If you’ll recall, we booked that hotel room for a whole week. It’d be real shame for it to…go to waste.” Matt waited for the penny to drop, and was rewarded with a noticeable spike in Frank’s pulse and temperature.

“Oh… _right_.” Frank’s eyes widened as he finally seemed to cotton on to Matt’s meaning. Foggy groaned and clapped his hands over his ears as if he could un-hear Matt’s not-so-subtle innuendo, and Karen began to giggle.

“So, we’ll see you guys later.” Matt began to lead Frank away, tossing a sharp smile back at Karen, who returned it, and Foggy, who just shook his head with slightly amused disbelief. “For now, we have a honeymoon to finish.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you thought! <3


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